


Stages

by A_Fine_Piece



Category: Bleach
Genre: Complete, F/M, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 16:33:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 37,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/864188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Fine_Piece/pseuds/A_Fine_Piece
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Byakuya Kuchiki was young and naive. He was just the type of man who would actually fall in love with his whore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stage One: Attraction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted originally in June 2009 on ff.net. I cleaned up some prose and errors along the way. The courtesans class in this story is based on the oiran/tayuu system during Edo period Japan. Hisana, however, would be considered akin to an apprentice, or oiran-in-training.

Tiredly, she straightened her posture and gave her  _guest_  a careful onceover. She was not impressed with the circumstances. It was hard enough to please the men in her care who were eager to receive what she had to offer. The task of eliciting even a pleasured smile from  _this man_ , who sat only three lengths in front of her, seemed insurmountable.

His face was blank – emotionless. Not even the gentle flicker of candle light or the encroaching darkness of nightfall gave his visage an illusion of interest. His eyes were cold, and his gaze was averted to the papers he had brought with him.

'He brought paperwork!' She was still incensed about  _that_. Her mind could not let that offence go; try as she might to push it to the back of her thoughts, it kept popping up.

'Why did he bother coming?' The question plagued her for a moment. Careful consideration, however, quickly revealed the  _why_  of his presence. Only five days ago she had received one of her benefactors, a gentle nobleman with an easy smile and even easier outlook on life. He mentioned, during their weekly session, that he had recommended her services to a friend of his. According to his admittedly brief and disinterested dialogue, the friend was worried after the sake of one his family members and was thusly looking for a good woman to act as "sheath" to a very reckless "blade".

If the man she was entertaining (or should have been entertaining) was considered "reckless" she was at a loss for what her benefactor's "friend" considered placid. Perhaps most nobles really were this tiresome. She did recall some of the women at her stable air their preferences for the academy students and Gotei 13 soldiers who hailed from the slums over the court nobles. She was beginning to see why.

'It is never a good sign if your mind is traveling to such idle thoughts. You have a job to perform! Think of it as a challenge. He is clearly reserved and repressed. It might take actual skill to seduce him – more than a coy smile and a suggestive glance.'

She remained incredulous as to her ability at wooing this particular nobleman.

"Would you like me to sing for you?" Asking the question, she bent slightly to pour a cup of tea for herself. (She secretly wished it to be a cup full of liquor… hard liquor.)

He glanced up on hearing her voice. It was a fleeting look, but it conveyed his disinterest in a way that words could not. "No," he murmured, turning his attention back to his paperwork.

"Would you like me to play for you?"

"No."

"Dance?"

"No."

"Sex?"

She smirked at the reaction  _that_  particular question garnered. He looked absolutely mortified by her candidness. Well, he appeared as mortified as his deadpan expression would let on. His eyes, at least, widened when his gaze shot up to meet hers.

A self-satisfied grin curved the corners of her lips. 'At least that got his attention,' she mused.

"You didn't answer me," she said in a low dulcet voice.

Clearly embarrassed by her forwardness, he dropped his eye-line to the papers lying on the tatami mat. He was tense, every fiber in his body stiffened. She could see the muscles in his jaw clench, and she very much suspected that a breath had caught in his throat, preventing him from chiding her for her impertinence.

"It is not necessary," he murmured pointedly. Even he was surprised by how well he managed to modulate his voice. He sounded appropriately disgusted and austere.

She, however, was not so convinced by his protest. She had found the chink in the armor, and, like a cat stalking her prey, she was more than willing to play with him – tease him – until he finally submitted.

"Your work must be very  _interesting_." Her canorous tone squelched the sarcasm-laced observation.

He stared up at her from his work. His lips sloped into a frown, and his once deadened eyes narrowed. She could almost  _taste_  his frustration as she held his gaze. The room suddenly chilled by at least five degrees, and an unsettling aura blanketed the area. The tension existing between the two would have strangled the submission into most women. Hisana, however, felt slightly provoked by his unwillingness to humor her. Something deep within her flared at his stubbornness until her only desire was to see his defenses crumble.

Instinctively, her voice lowered by a few octaves as she murmured a breathy, "Most men find me distraction enough."

"I'm not  _most men_ ," he retorted evenly. He then quickly occupied his attention with the papers and ink. But, she could tell he was hesitating – waiting for another invitation or remark to come his way. At least, she could sense that he found her unnerving. At most, he was unsettled by her casual air.

She would  _settle_  for 'unnerved'.

She  _wanted_  'unsettled'.

Unsettling someone often proved to be an advantage in her experience. Do it just enough, and they would forfeit their silly pride and willingly acknowledge their own lack of experience. Then, it was easier to lead them. She, however, had a sneaking suspicion that unsettling Byakuya Kuchiki enough for him to submit would be a maddening if not impossible task…

"You must enjoy paperwork, then," she continued, ignoring his barb for the time being. "They must bring you endless amounts of  _pleasure_."

He bristled at that. It was an almost imperceptible action on his part, but his shift in posture did not go unnoticed by her wolfish stare.

"No," he murmured; his voice sounding with more repugnance than before.

"Really? You seem so intense staring down at the parchment. The brush so firmly clenched in between your fingers that I can see the whites of your knuckles." She could have kept on going, but an agitated glare on his part silenced her.

Her quietness, however, was only momentary. Cocking her head to the side, she feigned ignorance. "Did you find me  _distracting_  just then?" she asked drily.

That was it. She had finally managed to break his stony veneer of indifference. His eyes narrowed; his lips pulled into a thin line; and his stare hardened. She could tell he wanted to say something – something biting or clever. Instead, he kept his silence and held her gaze.

And what a scorching gaze it was! She could feel her entire face heat, and, if she was not mistaken, she could feel his reiatsu begin to rise and swirl with the air already dripping with tension. He was a powerful man – not just socially but physically and spiritually. She was slowly realizing just how strong he was with each passing second.

But it would take a lot more than reiatsu to slake her curiosity. She wanted to know what lay beyond those well trained features and fortressed face. If it took that much effort to shackle and contain his true desires, there must be a very passionate man beneath, she intuited.

She broke the silence with a forced sigh. "Look at those papers. It will take you forever to finish all that work alone. Let me aid you, milord."

Her false attempt at subservience was duly noted by him. The word "milord" struck a discordant note – a proverbial "thunk" – sinking like a weight between them.

Before Byakuya had a chance to air a protest, Hisana had already invaded his cherished bubble of personal space. Seated in perfect seiza beside him, he could feel his blood pressure rise at her nearness. She furthered her invasion when she bent to pluck a form from in front of him. A flash of the white underside of her wrist caught his gaze. Reflexively, he clenched his jaws. The sight perturbed him, eliciting a small shiver.

He wanted to say something. He wanted to end this farce. He had only come out of some sort of obligation to his family. He had come to show them that he was unflappable – unstirred by the baser sources of pleasure. Gone were the days of reckless and hotheaded behavior. But now… Now, he could not deny the feeling of his blood simmering in his veins. He was irritated beyond reason, but, most perplexing, was that he was not entirely sure  _why_  he was so disproportionally bothered. Sure, it was the  _woman_ , but what about her provoked this feeling?

Watching her with a steady gaze, he wanted to protest her intrusion, but he was afraid of what words might come out in lieu of his disapproval. It had been awhile since he had last felt this unsure of himself.

She glanced up at him and smiled chastely. Gently, she eased the pen from his fingers. "Don't look so worried. It is just form-filling," she said before glancing down at the sheet in front of her.

For a moment she appeared pensive. Her gaze stayed on one word in particular, and she did not move.

"You  _can_  read?" He meant the question to sound biting and offensive.

She, however, did not appear stricken in the least. "Of course," she murmured, "it's – just – well - I've never seen calligraphy this impressive before. It is so clean yet so beautiful." She glanced up, and, meeting his eyes, she deepened her stare. She appeared genuine in her compliment. "It must have taken you many years to reach this level of proficiency. Calligraphy is a very demanding art form. The amount of focus it requires is incredible. One must have very good control and precision as he grips the brush firmly in his hand. He must be tentative yet confident and fluid as he makes the strokes. The beat of the brush in synchrony with the movement of the hand as it slides across rough paper must be intense, arousing. The fine musculature of the hand must be at once tight and yielding to the needs of the word and smoothness of the parchment. And the release – seeing the creation and experiencing it as you pull away – must be pleasurable, sensual even."

His eyes widened, and every fiber in his body clenched. Silently, he sat aghast at both her tone and words. He had never heard such a  _pornographic_  interpretation of calligraphy in his entire life.

Watching his expression with much delight, she sat up, pressing her thigh against his as she repositioned herself. The contact felt electric, sending a toe-curling shiver down even her spine. When she withdrew her leg from his, she made sure to scrutinize his features for any sign of unwanted emotion. He remained uncomfortably stoic; it was as if his inner restraints began snapping into place once her warmth faded from him.

"You must be  _very_  good at swordplay," she observed in a throaty voice.

"How would you know?" he hissed.

He finally prickled. He shrugged away the burning trills of some unnamable feeling. Much to her chagrin, however, he did not drop the impassive expression. His grey-blue eyes remained as inscrutable as when he first arrived, papers in hand.

"I wouldn't," she replied, a cryptic look in her eyes, "it was a guess." Without a warning, she placed her hand against his. Her touch was so light that he barely realized she was turning his hand palm-side up. Wordlessly, he watched as she gently stroked the base of wrist up to his fingertips. He hesitated before pulling away.

"Judging by the calluses, it seems I was correct. Unless, of course, you are occupying your hands with other strenuous endeavors besides gripping a sword."

Again, she felt his spiritual pressure intensify, and she wondered what it was that he was experiencing. Was it disgust? Anger? Anxiety? Want?

"Do you wish anything of me?" she asked in a throaty voice.

He watched her with the same look he watched a volatile opponent on the battle field. There was something decidedly feline in the way she eyed him. It was a slyness – a knowing slyness – that emanated from her blue eyes. It was the agile way she held herself, anticipating anything.

She reminded him of a certain  _cat_  he had known in his youth. Hisana's game, however, was very different from the one he had played with the Cat years before. The intent – to provoke him, to toy with him, and then to trap him – was the same now as it was then. The only alteration was the method used, and he had to admit that the current mode was definitely better suited to her than him.

He was stubborn, however. And he did not submit easily. Not as a child, and not now. Even if every inch of him crackled with some strange desire to yield, he was unrelenting.

"Since you seem so taken by physicality, perhaps I could entice you with some dancing?"

He remained unmoved.

"Then, perhaps you could indulge me?"

His eyes narrowed, but he did not verbalize his sentiment.

"I've never seen a true battle posture. I would like to see one."

Before he had a chance to decline her proposal, she added, "There is a decorative daishō on a stand over there." She jerked her chin in the direction of the props. "Obviously, they would fall apart under much force, but they should suffice. I mean, if you  _can_."

His brows lowered at her half-hearted challenge. It was simply asinine – a ridiculous request. Why would he need to prove himself to this mere  _woman_?

"Perhaps, that was presumptuous of me to propose something so trifling. Let us go back to filling out these papers," she said, carelessly waving her hand at the thought.

"No," he muttered. For some reason, the idea of returning to paperwork with her looming nearby proved more offensive than playing soldier. 'Weren't oiran supposed to be charming and well-mannered?' he kept wondering to himself.

In the time it took to bat an eye, he had reached the daishō and withdrew the katana from the stand. Hisana was much slower and calculating upon rising to follow him. (This was in part due to him being vastly her superior when it came to flash-step, and partly due to the heavy and restrictive nature of her garments.)

Without hesitation he assumed a basic position with sword firmly gripped in both hands. He glanced over his shoulder to find Hisana standing a few centimeters away. She watched him; her gaze traveling his body. She observed him with the discerning stare of a teacher, and like a vulture she circled him.

He stood with feet parallel. The left foot was his lead, and its heel was slightly raised. His posture was appropriately straight; not forced. The shoulders were relaxed; the hips were forward. He appeared solid.

"Humph," she hummed. She was far from impressed by the stance's simplicity. Folding her arms in front of her chest, she added, "That doesn't look so hard."

She was baiting him, and the rational part of his brain knew it. It was not even particularly  _convincing_  bait, but he couldn't help but give her a pointed sidelong glare. " _Really_?" he said rigidly.

"Really," she retorted, playfully. "Any dancer could mimic that with ease."

He narrowed an eye at her insinuation.

"Do you want to see?" Emphasizing her coyness, she lifted a brow and cocked her head to the side.

No. No, in fact, he did  _not_  want to see her try to replicate his pose. He  _knew_  it was a basic posture, and that is why he chose it – to end this farce as soon as possible. But, before he had the chance to lob a barbed comment in her direction, he was aghast to find her shedding some of her clothing. Unwittingly, his eyes widened and his lips parted at the sheer audacity that he was witnessing. It was like a social train wreck; he couldn't stop watching because it was so novel and…

She  _knew_  exactly what she was doing. He was fairly sure that she knew that  _he_   _knew_  what she was doing. And she didn't give a damn.

"Don't look at me like that," she simpered teasingly. "These robes are not conducive to you seeing my  _form_."

And he did not say a word. He simply had no script to follow for this behavior.

Dishabille and in position, she glanced back over at him. "See," she noted effervescently. Her expression brightly begging the question:  _Well? How is it?_  She was practically willing him to indulge in her shape, and instinctively he did. His gaze, however, was unlike the one she had used to observe his stance. It was tentative, unsure, at first. It slowly deepened, and while he tried to maintain a look of objectivity, he felt oddly intrigued by her positioning.

He was sure it was intentional. She had merely taken the basic stance that he had demonstrated and turned it into a more flowery version – more befitting for a dancer than a swordsman.

"Your stance is wide," he noted drily. With a flick of the wrist, he positioned the decorative sword downward as if he were about to sheathe it into some invisible scabbard. Using the hilt of the sword as an instructional aide, he poked her lightly in the back. "Too arched," he murmured. Then, he gently ran the prop from her abdomen to her chest. "Bring your chest up, and relax your shoulders," he commanded.

Hisana complied. Deviously, she looked askance in his direction. Her head rose, exposing the length of her neck, and the rise and fall of her chest became more pronounced with each breath.

"Your hips are wrong as well," he said evenly.

A wolfish grin curled the corners of her mouth. Seductively, she watched him, and, trying her best to appear chaste and unassuming, she asked for further instruction: "How may I correct them?"

He prodded her with the hilt, but she would not comply. She either tilted too far to the side, forward, or backward. She moved like a limp doll.

He was certain she was toying with him. Contorting her body in strange positions to allure him or trap him.

"Maybe you could be a little more hands on with your approach," she suggested in a breathy voice.

He narrowed his eyes at her invitation.

"Come now, I don't want to be a  _bad_  student."

Every muscle in his body tightened at her inflection. He had been willingly led. And the only question lingering like a dark haze over his thoughts was: How far would he continue?

Hisana continued to watch him struggle with her meaning. His eyes were dilated, his breathing still, and his posture stiffened. Glancing up through heavy eyelashes, she held his gaze. She could tell he wanted to play along, but something was staying his hand (both literally and figuratively). All he needed was a little coaxing, she mused.

She gently took one of his hands in her own and pressed it against her hip. It did not take long for the hand grasping the sword to follow suit. Trying his best to remain collected and indifferent, his hands sank into the thin layer of silk separating his palms from her skin underneath. The heat from her body warmed his hands as he tried to straighten her hips. She was surprisingly responsive as he attempted to mold her body into the pose.

"Well?" she murmured, gazing into his eyes. She stretched upward and forward; the space between the two rapidly diminishing with each passing second.

He looked hesitant at first. Just when she was certain he had given in, his entire expression suddenly deadened and he closed up like a clam.

"Enough," he said warningly. "I've had enough." He quickly placed the prop sword back on its stand and collected his papers.

While she would not express it, she was livid. She had wasted a night's full on energy on this man. This arrogant man who stubbornly spat on her charms.

"Good evening, Lord Kuchiki," she managed through clenched teeth as he moved to the door. Swallowing her frustration, she forced a bow in his general direction.

He did not offer her the same regard. Instead he slid the door open, not waiting for her to perform the action as was customary.

Feeling the chill of his wake, Hisana glanced up to find he had left, not bothering to shut the door behind him. Wearily, she crossed the floor and retracted the door all the while wondering when she would see him again…

And she was most certain that he would return.

 


	2. Stage Two: Romance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Byakuya's escort is amiss, Hisana intervenes much to his chagrin.

 

 

 

Hisana sat quietly enjoying her cup of tea. It was early morning, and the sun's light illuminated everything in a soft filter. It was her favorite time of the day. It was quiet, comforting, and when the air was thick, as it often was after a stormy night, the smell of peonies and lilacs perfumed the air.

So taken by the glow of the early hours, Hisana ignored her companions. Her head tilted upward. Her eyes focused on the garden through the open door, and a coy smile played across her face. It was only a matter of time before one of her "sisters" called her on her impudence.

"My, my, Hisana, you came in late last night," Oko, the youngest of the four women in the room, said, slyly eying Hisana.

Hisana inhaled a deep breath, breaking from her meditative state. She cocked her head to the right, and turned her attention to Oko, who was seated on Hisana's left. She parted her lips to speak, but she was quickly interrupted. Hisana immediately choked back the tingling of words forming in her throat when she realized which woman was speaking; it was Ichisumi, one of the eldest and most accomplished oiran at the stable. Hisana held a special place in her heart for the woman. It was Ichisumi who took it upon herself to mentor Hisana when she was first brought into the walled city.

"You were out late, Hisana?" the woman's voice was not accusatory in tenor. She remained very calm and gentle even though Hisana could tell Ichisumi was unnerved by the observation. Even in their business, a woman's reputation was of utmost importance. It was, after all, what distinguished oiran from common whores.

Hisana looked askance at Oko; her left eye narrowed, and her mouth curled into a sneer. The exchange was brief and went unnoticed by everyone but Oko.

"Yes, Honorable Sister. Oko is correct. I was entertaining a client."

Instinctively, Ichisumi's posture became ramrod straight. The woman's chest jutted out, indicating that she was holding her breath at the revelation. It was apparent she was uneasy about the response, but her expression did not darken. No look of dismay could be read. "You had no clients scheduled that late in the evening, Hisana," she noted evenly.

"She was cavorting with Lord Kuchiki!" Mine blurted out excitedly.

Hisana turned her head to the left, and leaned forward so she could get a good look at the young woman seated on the opposite side of Oko. "Mine," she sighed. Her eyes widened and her brows furrowed.

Defensively, Mine's shoulders rose. "Well, everyone is talking about it," she murmured sheepishly.

Hisana folded her hands in her lap. Her eyes trailed down to the tatami floor. She could almost  _feel_  the burn of Ichisumi's gaze on her. And she wondered what expression her mentor was wearing to mask her disapproval. Hisana knew her "sister" was waiting for her to say something – anything – that would excuse or clarify her behavior.

"I was merely  _networking_ ," she said after a pregnant pause.

Well, that was  _sort of_  true. Never-mind the fact that she essentially asserted her presence where it was not requested… specifically requested that is.

'It was an unspoken thing; he would have been looked on badly going to the celebration alone,' she rationalized.

'Stupid bridge.'

"Hisana," Ichisumi began in a low, knowing voice, "what happened?"

Hisana lifted her head, but her eyes were stubborn; her gaze lingered on the floor. "Absolutely nothing," she murmured, trying her best to sound demure, but failing miserably. She sounded like someone who was cornered . Her defenses instinctively flared at the suggestion that her propriety was being questioned.

'How silly,' she mused scornfully to herself, 'that someone in  _my_  position has to worry about her reputation.'

But she was right to worry. Her allure to future and current clients was the only thing keeping her from being turned out like a common prostitute. She had not willingly signed up for this life – she  _certainly_ wasn't going to endure paying off her debt in that other manner. There were rules – many of them – and she was going to have to take them more seriously. The consequences were just too great otherwise.

"He needed an escort," she replied belatedly.

"Ha," Oko chortled. "Lord Kuchiki doesn't  _need_  for anything. Admit it! You threw yourself at him."

"Hisana, is that true?" Ichisumi inquired, sounding as refined as a porcelain doll looked.

Hisana's gaze flitted up to the ceiling as she recalled the night's events. 'Well… he didn't exactly  _ask_  you to come along.' She cocked a brow as she remembered the expression on his face.

"He did need an escort," she said distantly.

Oko's jaw went slack. " _Please_ , Hisana, stop prevaricating. It's an unflattering look on a woman."

Turning her gaze to Ichisumi, Hisana leaned forward on her sitting mat. Her fingers curled around the edges, a tantalizing grin split her lips, and a wolfish gleam lit her eyes. In two seconds flat she went from appearing aloof and contemptuous to looking like a woman who was about to divulge the biggest scoop of her life. " _Well_ ," she began in a well-rehearsed tone of self-importance, " _if you insist_."

Hisana, admittedly, was terrible at "girl talk." Most of her attempts were met with failure. She had never been interested enough in the intricacies of the female psyche. All she merely wanted was to _exist_  at the Peony House long enough to pay off her ill-gotten debt and squirrel away what extra she could con out of her clients. Any free time she had was used for  _other_  more important purposes.

Needless to say, when Hisana was forced to interact with her stable mates her manner became very glib and stilted. Right now, she imagined she was coming off damn ham-handed. What she lacked in truthfulness, however, she could make up in charm. It was a forced sort of charm, but no one ever called her on it, and she was beginning to wonder if they actually found it genuine.

"Yesterday, as you know," she said, the last syllable sounding deathly sharp as she turned her attention to Oko, "was my rest day. So, I went about my  _errands._ " (She would never, under any circumstances, admit to leaving the Pleasure Quarters. The oiran were not permitted under the law to wander away from the small corner of Soul Society they were unlucky enough to inhabit. But she was compelled by the most profound need to search for that one unnamable thing that existed far beyond the walls of the "floating world".) "When I returned late that day, I bathed and was preparing for bed when I caught the fragrance of the wild peonies outside. I decided to dress for walking when I bumped into Lord Kuchiki."

" _Bumped_ ," Oko echoed incredulous, "more like 'jumped onto'."

Hisana shot the girl a scathing stare before beginning anew. "I met him on the bridge in front of the Lotus teahouse. Through a series of very fortunate events, I escorted him to the teahouse."

"' _Series of very fortunate events_ ,' indeed!" Oko hissed with disbelief.

"How do you mean, Hisana?" Ichisumi asked, finding merit in Oko's barbed comment.

Hisana suppressed the urge to grimace. Instead she gritted her teeth, and locked her jaws into a smile. "I engaged him in conversation."

'That's a lie,' she noted frantically to herself. 'He was the first to speak. What did he say? I don't remember. It was something pointed. He was uncomfortable. I remember that much. I don't think he realized who I was until I replied. That's when the look of horror crossed his face.'

"We were talking, and he mentioned how his date for the evening left him in a lurch. I extended an offer to take her place." At this point, Hisana's tone became even more superficial and bubbly, and the cadence of her speech sped.

'They can't be so easily fooled,' she worried in thought. 'Not Ichisumi, at least. She probably knows how I insinuated myself. She courts at least two of the men in the party last night. Even her very best patron was there.'

Trying her best to appear convincing, Hisana lifted her chest and straightened her posture. "In fact, I wouldn't be surprised to see him again."

The last part, however, wasn't a lie. Hisana would have been plum aghast if he  _didn't_  make a call given the night's circumstances. Circumstances that found his House in possession of her clothes from the night before. (Expensive robes that did not actually belong to her but rather the Peony House.) She wanted to shake her head at  _that_  particular recollection. Embarrassment did not even begin to describe her feelings. At least she could take solace in the notion that the sting of discomfiture wasn't entirely the result of  _just her_  actions…

Oko glared at her. Hisana just  _knew_  the youngest courtesan was seething. She could see it by the look on the girl's face. Oko's countenance tensed. Her brows lowered over eyes so narrowed they were mere slits. Her glower could peel paint.

"What makes you think Lord Kuchiki will make a request? Did it go so well?" Ichisumi asked, tilting her head to the side.

Hisana smiled meekly at the question. 'I don't suppose, "We need to exchange garments," would be an appropriate response,' she thought to herself. She was far too amused for her own good.

At least her expression was genuinely blithe when she glanced over to her Honorable Sister. "It is just feminine intuition."

Ichisumi gave a nod of approval and a half-grin. "Very good. Hopefully, you will have luck with that Kuchiki."

For the briefest of moments, Hisana swore she could detect a faint expression of sorrow in her mentor's mien. It was a passing thing, however, for Mine was quick to digress, "Where is Shuko?"

Both Oko's and Ichisumi's faces tightened at the mention of the missing oiran. Shuko was Mine's Big Sister; she was also Ichisumi's other Little Sister.

"Is she ill?" Mine asked, becoming visibly shaken.

Hisana glanced over at Oko with raised brows and a look of ignorance. She only spoke to or saw Shuko during their teatimes with Ichisumi.

"One could say she has  _taken_   _ill_ ," Ichisumi responded evenly.

Hisana's eyes widened at the insinuation. She knew what  _taken ill_  was code for around the stables. It signaled that the woman's career was about to come grinding to a halt. She had committed the _unspeakable_  act.

"Oh, no," Hisana murmured. "Tell me Shuko hasn't-"

Oko and Ichisumi both gravely nodded their heads.

"What? What is it? I don't understand," Mine rattled out. "What happened to Big Sister?"

"Maybe she has that flu that has being going around," Hisana countered.

Oko and Ichisumi shook their heads. One could not help but notice the expression of repugnance etched into each woman's face.

"What is it?" Mine asked, her manner becoming increasingly more agitated with each passing second.

"Shuko has been  _taken in_ ," Ichisumi answered cryptically.

"'Taken in' where?" Mine said. Her gaze flitted from one oiran to the other. Silently, she implored them to elaborate. While Oko may have been the youngest, Mine was the neophyte of the group, and thus she frequently was at a loss when it came to interpreting the delicate and often cryptic meanings behind such innocuous expressions.

"She has fallen in — with one of her clients," Hisana said faintly. Even though she had been the one to articulate it, she couldn't bring herself to say the word. The gap in her sentence was to be mentally filled in for it was a bad omen to say the missing word. It was an ill portent of sorts – no one dared to utter it.

"Wha—" Then, realization hit Mine with the force of a lightning strike. "No!" she said, wide eyed and holding the end note for a beat longer than necessary.

Hisana shook her head. "What will they do?"

Ichisumi shrugged. "She'll be the one to decide that. She can choose to succumb to it, or she'll be wise and let it go."

_Love._

It was an unspeakable word at the Peony House even though every oiran there dealt it to their clients. It was their service after all. Some gave their blood; they gave love. And they were expected to give love to  _all_  the men they entertained. But it was only an illusion – a giant production. Every woman there knew it, and the men, on some level, knew it as well.

But some women not only gave love, they also fell into love.

It never ended well.

The mood of the room took a nose-dive. The fragrance of flowers blossoming in the garden was not the first thing one noticed about the air. Tension, regret, and sympathy hung like a wet blanket over the foursome. The blackness of the moment, however, disintegrated the instant a servant pulled back the door.

"Miss Hisana, your presence is requested."

Perplexed, Hisana glanced over her shoulder. To her knowledge, she had no customers scheduled for that hour. It was rare (although not unheard of) to entertain men early in the day. Usually their mornings were dedicated to classes and other preparations for the busy evenings.

Reading Hisana's confusion, the servant added, "It is Lord Kuchiki so time is of the essence."

Anticipating Oko's look of shock, Hisana could have laughed. She, however, did not. Instead she took to her feet. "Good day, Ladies." She hastily bowed before scurrying out the door.

Byakuya Kuchiki stood stiffly gripping the neatly folded robes in his hands. He was not quite sure how to behave given the circumstance. She had seen him at a very low point last night. She had also been very understanding all things considered. That was probably the most embarrassing part of it all, he noted drily to himself.  _He_  had been the one in error at the end. Granted, she was no saint. He wasn't even sure what he thought of her or  _if_  he  _should_ be giving her a second thought…

But, there he was tightly clenching her robes in his hands. It was all he could do to allay his embarrassment. It really was her fault, he reasoned, finally giving into his urge to pace the burnished wooden floor outside the room - the room he refused to enter.

She had just  _asserted_  herself as his escort. He didn't even  _need_  an escort. He certainly wasn't planning on being accompanied by anyone. Even if he had he could have found someone of more esteem than her.

Again, his grip on the silk increased by tenfold as he went over the night's events in his head.

Memory – it was such a fragile and capricious thing.

They were on the bridge; he said something terse and appropriate in her direction. He had been there first, after all, and he had taken to that area to seek solitude before her intrusion. He had not even realized it was  _her_  until she glanced over at him, seemingly taken aback by his presence. Apparently, she had not even noticed him standing there.

She had said something to him then. What exactly? He could not recall. It was probably something conniving and clever – a pun, maybe? She  _was_  devious…

'Except that then she wasn't,' the more rational part of his brain pointed out. That was why he did not instantly recall her at first. She was vastly different then. The self-assured woman from before was not there. There was no mischievous glint in her eyes, no wolfish grin, and she did not carry herself in that hideous feline way. She appeared very different on the bridge. Her eyes doleful, her brows bent in worry, and she held herself like a whipped dog. She looked humbled, perhaps even in a state of despair.

'Except that she proved to be an interloper shortly thereafter,' he reminded himself ruefully.

Indeed, she had managed to pass herself off as his consort. And with little effort. If his cousin had not come out at that moment and just  _assumed_  she was with him, this would never have happened. If she had not  _pretended_  that they were together, or if he had the foresight to call her on the canard, he might not have become so ill during the meeting. And he would not be standing right there at that moment wasting his time.

Frustrated, he glanced down at the now wrinkled fabric. He considered putting it down and leaving.

"Are you going to just stand out there?" the familiar intonations resonated from inside the nearby room.

He lingered just outside the door, looking on in a state of disarray.

She smiled pleasantly at him. "You  _can_  come in. It makes me look bad otherwise."

He straightened his posture, and gave her his best hardened stare.

Hisana crossed the room, stopping short of the doorway. "Come, come," she said, extending her hand to him.

He glanced down at it. It was small and pale – easily breakable and probably very soft. On thinking the latter, his head bobbed up and he met her gaze. She didn't appear to be the smooth vixen from before. There was no fiendish gleam radiating from her eyes, nor were the lines of her face bent into a look of sharp cunning. No, instead she looked quite plain standing there in a simple blue kimono. And he wondered if it was just a ruse to get him inside.

She grinned at him. "You're studying me. It's becoming obvious," she noted playfully.

He took a step back, lifting his head.

'All the defenses are up today,' she mused.

"I escorted you back to your estate in your  _state_ , and you repaid me by throwing up on my kimono. I think the least you could do is allow me my reputation and come inside to properly exchange robes." She turned her back on him as if to declare that was the end of any discussion on the matter, and he was to follow her lead.

When she turned around she was not surprised to find him standing a few centimeters inside the room. The door was still open, and she wanted to sigh at the sight. She repressed the urge, and moved across the floor to draw the door close.

'Not all nobles are this helpless, are they?'

Once the door was shut, she turned to face his back. Wordlessly, she reached up and eased his haori and scarf from his shoulders. He didn't make any sudden movements. In fact, he acted as if he expected it. And she wondered if he was just accustomed to the attention. Being dressed by servants wasn't an unheard of practice among the ultra wealthy. The noble women, especially, would need assistance when dressing in formal attire. Hisana assumed it was no different for the men.

Smoothly, she draped the garments over her left arm, and turned to place them up for the time being.

He didn't say a word; he just watched her, wondering why he had allowed her to perform the action.

She could tell there was something off, she just wasn't sure what. She didn't know him that well, after all. (Although, she had a sinking feeling that she knew him better than most women in Seireitei.)

"Let me get the kimono you leant to me."

To be honest, it was his male attendant that had given her the kimono. Byakuya had been knocked out by then.

"Don't bother," he said in a low monotone.

She gave him a sidelong stare.

His gaze fell to the garments in his hands. "The servants could not get out all the stains."

She chuckled. "Well, that's what you get for eating spicy food," she murmured sardonically.

He cocked a brow. "I don't think it was the curry."

She neared him. "I'm guessing you aren't used to drinking so much," she said, placing her hand on the folded material he gripped so tightly.

She inspected his visage. His usually well-styled and neatly contained self looked shot to hell. He pulled off "hung-over" surprisingly well, she had to admit. If you didn't get too close or look too hard you could almost miss the telltale signs: the bloodshot eyes, the dark bags, the general expression of malaise, and the irritable demeanor that suggested the person was suffering from a migraine.

She laughed. "Oh, c'mon, I'm not so bad. You didn't have to drink yourself into a stupor." Taking the ruined kimono from him, she turned to set it on a nearby desk for the time being. "I bet you have a terrible headache," she called from over her shoulder.

He looked at her as if that was the stupidest and most obvious observation ever made.

She smiled away the sting of his stare. "I have a pretty reliable cure for that."

He didn't want to humor her. He really didn't, but his head and entire body begged him otherwise.

"I could make it for you."

He glared.

"I'll take that as a, 'Please, Hisana, please save me from myself.'"

"You could have done that  _last night_ ," he hissed under his breath.

She threw her head back and chuckled. "I had no idea you had imbibed so much."

Convenient excuse, he growled to himself. She was too busy doing… Well, he didn't have a barbed inner-monologue for that. She really wasn't such a bad companion. The social atmosphere really suited her, more so than it did him. She was very good at appeasing powerful men, and she did so without the histrionics that usually clung to the noble women like wet silk clung to skin. Maybe that was why so many noble men patronized the oiran.

When he looked up she had disappeared. He took a step back and eyed the door behind him. It would be easy to slip out, but something stayed him. The idea that there was a cure for his condition was alluring, but there was something that bothered him intensely.

Being there, with her was…

She was…

Why did he care?

He glanced back at the shoji door. It was a flimsy barrier. So, why did he stay?

He shook his head, and chalked it up to not being himself. He was still drowsy; his thoughts heavy and slow in his head. He would take her "cure" only to repay her the favor of not leaving him to his own devices late last night. He was doing it as a courtesy because, while he would never say it aloud, her company last night did benefit him. She was fey, seemingly exotic to the other men in the party. And she never diverted the attention from him; she just made everything run much smoother. But, then again, was she not trained to do just that?

"Sit down. Rest," she said gracefully laying down the sitting mats. In the middle of the floor sat a small wooden carrying box that contained what looked to be items for tea.

Wordlessly, he complied, and watched as she served him.

"You're not proficient with tea service?" he stated drily.

Hisana took to her mat, and eyed him over the top of her teacup. While it was framed as a question it was anything but. "No," she answered, "No more than a tea master is proficient in dance."

He took a sip, keeping a cautious eye on her.

"How do you like it?" she asked after he had drained the container.

He said nothing. He just stared at her like she was some hazard that needed to be carefully navigated past.

She smiled to herself at the thought. 'Why is he so retrained? It's not like I care, and there is no one else around to judge him or correct him. Maybe he is prejudiced against commoners?'

No matter how hard she tried, she could not figure him out or his motives. He had requested and paid for an hour block of time. Why that long if all he wanted to do was tell her that her garments had been ruined? It wasn't as if he had to recompense her for the lost kimono. He gave her an equally expensive garment in exchange. The Peony House wanted their women dressed well for their clientele, but they didn't keep exact notes on the kimonos and under-kimonos they possessed. If one of the girls or clients ruined a robe, the House just added the expense to the girl's existing debt.

So, why?

'Maybe he's just lonely,' she wondered, taking a small sip of her tea. 'He is the head of one of the most powerful clans in Soul Society. I imagine that in itself is intimidating for most of Seireitei's inhabitants.' She considered the possibility for a moment. 'His personality certainly doesn't make approaching him inviting.' Quietly, she shook her head and smiled to herself.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, turning her attention back to him.

"Better," he said hastily.

She could tell he wanted to leave. He sat straight as a board. His hands were rigidly placed in his lap. He looked so uncomfortable like he was at a complete loss.

Hisana leaned forward and taking the teapot in one hand and holding back her long sleeves with another she filled his cup. "You still look fatigued," she murmured softly.

No response.

"The gathering last night was nice," she said nonchalantly, hoping it would ease his nerves.

He watched her silently as she filled her own cup. "Why did you do that last night?"

"Do what?" she asked innocently.

His eyes narrowed.

"Lie and claim I was your escort for the evening? Or help you back to your home?"

He was reticent to answer.

"I escorted you last night because I felt my service from before had not been satisfactorily completed," she said.

Byakuya lowered his brow and glared at her questioningly. "What?"

She smiled knowingly. "You left angry. I didn't want you to keep your bad impression of me."

"That's egotistical. I had all but forgotten you," he countered sternly.

She wanted to laugh at that, but she managed to restrain herself. "Ah, but you hadn't. And I'm nothing if my reputation is soiled."

"Interloping is what you consider making amends?" he asked pointedly.

"I was hoping to make it up to you in  _practice_. And I thought I behaved appropriately enough. Although, apparently," her voice faded as she referenced his  _condition_ , "I made a favorable impression on everyone but you. All things considered."

Reflexively, he clenched his jaws at the implication of her look. "Indeed."

"I felt responsible for what happened to you at the tearoom, so I helped you back to your house with the aid of your male attendant."

He continued drinking the concoction as it was the only thing he could do to occupy his attention.

"Is it helping?" she asked, folding her hands in her lap.

"No," he answered sternly, setting the cup down.

The two sat facing each other. Both wondering what to do or say next.

Hisana was waiting for him to get up and leave. Maybe she  _wanted_  him to leave. He  _was_  an arrogant man.

Byakuya, on the other hand, was expecting her to try to seduce him. Wasn't that her job? But was that what he wanted her to do? The latter thought made him uneasy.

Uncomfortably both sat waiting for the other to make the next move. Hisana was preparing herself for his departure. Byakuya was wondering what he would do when she made her advancement.

And that is when she noticed it. Byakuya appeared unsure. His brows were low and knitted over questioning eyes. She wondered what he was thinking – what he wanted from her. But, by then she was not sure she cared. While the option was not exercised with great frequency, an oiran always reserved the right to refuse her services to a client. If she wished, she could easily blacken a client's name by making it known that she rejected him. Hisana, however, doubted that she would have much luck hurting  _his_  reputation. Her Honorable Sister, on the other hand, probably could do at least superficial damage to the Kuchiki namesake by rejecting him.

For a brief moment, Hisana amused herself with the possibility. If she had the power would she do it? She liked to think she wouldn't. But, it would be tempting not to.

Shaking the strange thoughts from her head, Hisana forced a small grin. She was going for "comely"; she imagined she nailed "pained" instead. "Would you like me to perform something for you?" she asked softly. "Shamisen? Flute?"

He remained quiet, and she wondered if he was considering her offer in earnest. "No," he said at length.

"I could dance."

He lifted his head.

Hisana took that as a "yes". She nimbly stood, and shedding her haori she took a starting position. Carefully, gracefully she performed a short dance. She could have chosen a longer more complicated dance, but for some reason his gaze stripped her of her confidence as a dancer. Years of being trained and beaten into perfection fell away, and she felt the cold fluttering of nerves. Fluttering she thought she had conquered years ago, especially given the dance's relative simplicity.

"You compared swordplay to dancing before," he noted in a low stern voice.

To her ears his voice took on an almost acidic, caustic tone. "Yes," she said, finishing her routine. She held his gaze as she did so. Patiently, she waited for his next biting remark.

"I don't see it."

"How can you not?" she asked, lifting a well defined brow. "There is rhythm, precision, a beat, a movement, and then the rush of satisfaction when it all comes together."

"There is no opponent in dancing."

Hisana almost broke down into a fit of laughter – a hoarse relieved sort of laughter. She had been expecting him to berate her skill as a dancer.

"Well, in odori, no. But there other types of dances – dances that require a partner and are combative in tone." She proffered him her hand. "Would you like to try?"

He looked skeptical as if it were not entirely orthodox.

"Exercise releases endorphins – endorphins could help your headache."

He considered her offer, but Hisana was the one who ultimately made the decision when she grabbed his hand and tugged him up. She drew near, taking his hands in hers. She held his left arm out to side, and gently positioned his right arm around her waist. With a feather-light touch, she molded him into position.

"I would never fight an opponent in this manner," he noted wryly.

A large smile split her lips. "Slide your left foot forward."

He complied.

"Now, move your right foot to meet your left."

No mistakes even if he did feel the unfamiliar sensation of heaviness plague his body. There was something unwieldy in his step – a drag that had never been there before.

"Right foot to the right, and move the left foot to meet it."

Hisana cleared her throat, disapprovingly. "Um, you may want to consider the constraints of your partner," she murmured when he made his strife to the right too wide for her to easily follow.

He glanced down to see that she was indeed inhibited by her kimono.

She could feel his body tense against hers, as if he wanted to redo the steps, but she shook her head. "No," she stated. "Now, take your right foot and move a step backward. Remember to bring your left foot back to meet it."

He complied, trying to modulate the width of his steps.

"Slide your left foot to the side, and slide your right foot to meet it. Then, we start over."

He fumbled for a moment, trying to figure out how the two bodies worked together. He was used to drills and footwork, but he never had to consider the needs and synchrony of another body – at least, not like this. Taking care of a drill partner was never a priority. Out-smarting or -lasting a partner was what the instructors were looking for. And even if the instructor wanted the partners to practice drills without overt competition, the bodies were never supposed to be this close together. (Well, sometimes the students misjudged, but a head-on collision was never an end goal.)

"See," Hisana chirped, "that's better. We could go faster." She had a sneaking suspicion that she would regret the latter suggestion.

And surely, within a few moments, he made a miscalculation, and the two of them quickly became tangled and off-balance. The end result was two bodies sprawled on the ground. Hisana was on the bottom. Byakuya, having enough foresight, had managed to get a hand under her head before she hit the tatami.

Glancing up at him she grinned coquettishly. And for a brief moment he wondered if she had planned the entire thing.

"Pain also releases endorphins," he muttered softly.

She chuckled. "You know what else releases endorphins?" she said, suggestively raising her brows. As she spoke the words, she ran her hands up his arms, stopping halfway. Her fingers sank into the excess fabric of his sleeves.

He lowered his head involuntarily, or it felt involuntary at the time. He was about to correct his mistake, but she was quick to seize her opportunity. Her lips pressed firmly against his. She moved her hands up his shoulders. Her fingers laced at the nape of his neck.

Byakuya froze, unsure of what to do. To respond or not to respond? The nearness of her, the smell of her white plum perfume, and his already heady condition elicited a nervous hesitation on his part. He was tempted to reciprocate her eagerness, but he held back and broke away.

Feeling the warmth of his mouth fade from hers, Hisana opened her eyes. Her large eyes probed his, searching for some sort of answer to his reluctance. Was there something wrong with her? Had she done something inappropriate? What was his deal? Was she that repulsive?

Quickly, he withdrew from her and stood, brushing himself off. His hands frantically worked to flatten any wrinkles from the fabric of his attire. He looked absolutely aghast, Hisana thought as she watched him. She had finally succeeded in disarming him, but she felt no pleasure despite her efforts. What she felt was  _bothered_.

Tiredly, she pondered what his reasons could be. Certainly, he could not be so prudish. No one was  _that_  puritanical - not in Soul Society.

She wanted to ask him. The question seared her tongue, begging, demanding, to be asked and answered. Instead, she bit her tongue, and pulled herself off the floor.

Quietly, she helped straighten the collar of his kimono. He didn't, as she expected, struggle away from her touch. He merely watched her with that inscrutable expression he wore so well.

She smiled politely, and bowed her head.

He gave a hasty nod of his head, and murmured a low, "Good afternoon," under his breath.

And like that he was gone in a flash.

"But, wait!" The sound of her voice filled her ears, but it was too late. "You forgot your haori and scarf..."

She sighed. Her shoulders sagged as she turned to the closet that stored the items. "I wonder if he did that on purpose," she muttered.

Call it feminine intuition or just plain obvious, but she  _knew_  he wanted a reason to return.

And she  _wanted_  to see him again.

'Maybe I  _am_  a glutton for punishment,' Hisana mused cynically to herself. 'But I must win this…'

What exactly she would "win," Hisana was not so sure.

But she was sure she would know when she had, and she was positive it would feel damn good.

 


	3. Stage Three: Passion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a brutal attack, Hisana leaves the Pleasure Quarters to sell a torn kimono. Along the way, she bumps into Byakuya Kuchiki.

**Stage Three: Passion**

Hisana sat with legs pulled against her chest; her arms tightly wrapped around her knees. The slack fabric of her kimono pooled at the corners of her bent elbows. The thick sticky air ghosted around her and clung to her exposed back, chilling the skin still damp from the antiseptic.

"How did you let this happen, Hisana?" Oko asked, her voice edging on the accusatory.

Hisana glanced back at the young girl. What she saw were Oko's hands dutifully at work. Taking much care to be gentle, she swabbed the heated lacerations with a thick salve.

"At least he didn't take his aggression out on your face," Oko sighed as she continued to apply the solution.

"I don't know how I let it go on for so long," Hisana replied belatedly to the question. "I guess I didn't know how to stop it once he got going," she murmured, staring distantly into the garden through the open doors.

"Some Big Sister you are," Oko scoffed between blowing puffs of air on the angry cuts running up and down Hisana's back. "If you come asking me for help it sort of defeats the purpose." Oko was waiting for a caustic reply from Hisana, but it never came. "Oh, c'mon, now. Pull yourself together. The wounds aren't  _that_  bad. I mean, sure, they probably hurt like a bitch, but they'll heal. In the morning when Dr. Nur comes to do his routine examinations, he can look at them. He can probably patch them up so they heal real quick."

A small half-grin thinned one side of Hisana's mouth. Oko for all her petulance really wasn't  _such_  a horrible Little Sister. She was just coarse and young – both of which could be cured with time and little help.

'Okay,' Hisana thought to herself, 'Oko needs a lot of help, but…' She shook her head. 'Well, I suppose being a big sister has never been one of my strongest suits,' she thought lugubriously to herself. 'I'm so sorry about that…'

"Goodness! He even got your neck. Were you conscious when this happened?" Oko exclaimed, gently pulling Hisana's hair back in a loose grip. She then began dabbing the superficial cuts with a pad that had been soaked in alcohol. "Who did this? Was it one of those self-entitled nobles? Gah, they piss me off sometimes!"

"Ouch, Oko!" Hisana yelped, feeling the young girl's hand begin to fist in her hair.

Immediately, Oko adjusted her hold. "Well, was it?" she said but this time in a lower calmer voice.

Hisana hunched forward. Instinctively, she tried to escape the burn of the antiseptic that Oko was applying. "You know I can't tell you that."

"It was that Kuchiki wasn't it?" Oko seethed, yanking Hisana's head back by her hair. Glancing down at her mentor, Oko's brows lowered and her eyes sharpened. "It was, wasn't it?"

Hisana wildly began attacking Oko's hands. Wiry fingers dug into the younger woman's knuckles, and with great effort she managed to get the fingers to loosen their death-grip on her hair.

"I'm not letting go until you tell me!"

Hisana muttered a few incoherent words under her breath. "Oko, I demand you let me go right now! How dare you disrespect your older sister so blatantly!"

Narrowing her eyes, Oko said, "It  _was_ him! He is a cold bastard, you know.  _I'm not surprised_."

"It is not any of your business, but,  _no,_  it was not Lord Kuchiki," Hisana hissed, resorting to beating against her protégé's hands in hope they would budge.

"Huh," Oko sighed, releasing Hisana's tresses, "even if it  _was_  him you wouldn't tell me. Would you?"

Hisana sprang back into a seated pose. Her hands were still in her hair; her fingers gently nursing the burning scalp underneath. "No," she said, glaring back at Oko, "I wouldn't. It is unprofessional. But, to keep you from spreading vicious and untrue rumors, I will tell you that it was  _not_  someone from the noble class."

"A shinigami, then?"

Hisana glowered. The slope of her lips fell into a frown as she watched the girl. "Is there any other kind?" She rolled her eyes before turning back around.

"Which division?" Oko asked as she began spreading the aloe-based salve on Hisana's neck.

"You know I can't tell you."

"Was he a foot soldier or was he ranked?"

"Oko," Hisana pleaded.

"C'mon, I know you want to bitch about it. I'd want to bitch about it. And what kind of example are you setting for your Lil' Sis by staying silent?"

"A  _good_  example," Hisana said, giving Oko a sidelong glance. She caught a glimpse of the girl's sour expression before turning her gaze back to the dark garden.

"Okay, you don't have to tell me. You can either nod your head or sit still as I go through the divisions. There. That way no one can say you said anything!"

Hisana snorted a soft breath and rolled her eyes at Oko's "solution".

"Okay. Was it the First Division?"

Hisana remained quiet.

"Yeah, I didn't figure it would be the General's squad. He's too strict and his people are just… too old or something."

Hisana furrowed her brows at Oko's brand of logic for that  _one_. 'She really is young…'

"Was it Division Two?"

Again, Hisana was motionless.

"Really? That would have been my first guess. They  _do_  house the  _Punishment Squad_ , you know? You'd think they'd be into that shit."

Hisana didn't say a word; although, she did want to chastise her student for her language and broad generalizations.

"Was it the Third Division?"

"Now, I bet it wasn't someone in the Fourth Division."

"What about Division Five?"

"Division Six?"

Yet again more of the same.

"Seven?"

No movement.

"Eighth. It's gotta be the Eighth!"

"The Ninth Division?"

Hisana did not move.

"The Tenth?"

"The Eleventh? What about the Twelfth? It can't be the Thirteenth!" Oko rattled those out so quickly that even if Hisana was of a mind to reveal the precise division she wouldn't have had the chance.

"You're a pain in the ass," Oko muttered, dissatisfied by the results.

Hisana chuckled. "I told you it is not polite to discuss clients with anyone – not stable-mates, not friends, not mentors, and definitely not other clients."

"Okay, how about this question? Does this happen often over a course of a courtesan's lifetime?  _There!_ Was that bland enough to get an answer?"

Hisana turned her head to the side so she could eye Oko. "Actually, that's a good question. And, no, it does not happen  _often_."

"Is it more likely gonna happen if the client is a shinigami or a noble?"

Hisana glanced up and to the right as she considered the question. "I don't know. In my experience and from what I've heard it doesn't really matter what title the client carries."

"That's  _comforting_ ," Oko murmured in a low voice.

Hisana smiled bitter-sweetly. "This life is  _anything_  but comfortable, Oko. You would do well to remember that."

The young girl breathed a heavy sigh. "Do you need any antiseptic on your front?"

Hisana cocked a brow. "No, Oko, I think I can deal with any marks there myself."

"I didn't mean to sound perverted or anything. Hey! You  _are_  courtesan; it's not like you need to get snippy with me over that!"

Hisana shrugged on her kimono, largely ignoring Oko's little aside. "Thank you," she said, standing up.

"You know until Dr. Nur can examine you, you probably shouldn't see any more clients. Those marks are pretty disgusting looking. You don't want to lose what patrons you have."

Hisana lifted her head at the biting remark. As abrasive as she was, Oko did have a point. While Hisana would like to think her stunning charm, talents, and wit kept the men on edge, she wasn't stupid. They were there for one purpose and that was physicality. Not just sex, mind you. If they wanted just sex they could find that in abundance and at cheaper prices. Men liked the courtesans because while they were refined they were also known for their beauty and grace. Being ripped apart and soiled was what they expected from common street urchins, not them.

"Good night, Oko," Hisana said. She gave a shallow bow of her head before exiting the room.

Once in the corridor, Hisana began to make quick adjustments to her kimono as she sauntered toward the House's appointment keeper. "Koito," she called, pushing back the window into the office, "who else do I have scheduled for tonight?"

The old plump lady threw Hisana a menacing stare. "Why do you need to know? The attendant will fetch you when need be," she announced in a guttural voice.

Hisana repressed the urge to roll her eyes. "I have sustained some injuries and I don't think it would be appropriate to continue until Dr. Nur has seen me in the morning."

"Stupid girl," the old woman growled before wheeling around to one of the large books lying open on her desk. Flicking down her thick reading glasses, she began tracing the ledgers for Hisana's name. "Hisana, Hisana, Hisana," the woman chanted under her breath as she scanned each line with her eyes and arthritic fingers. "Yes, you have two appointments tonight." Koito one-handedly removed her glasses and dropped them, letting the chain around her neck catch the spectacles before they hit the desk. "What the hell is so wrong with you, now? Did you get a little smacked around or something?" the woman mocked.

Hisana clenched her jaws at Koito's apathy. "Yes, ma'am," she said through gritted teeth. "The last client was a little rough."

"Come here!" the woman barked, kicking open the door next to her.

Hesitantly, Hisana skulked into the small musty room. Her head was held low, and her body shrunk down as far as it could. She had the look of a wounded animal.

"Get over here!" Koito shot up, standing proud at about four feet tall. She quickly pulled Hisana closer by the collar of her kimono, and grabbed her by the face. Sharply she yanked Hisana's head from side to side, scrutinizing every contour and line of Hisana's visage. "At least your face isn't damaged," she said; her acerbic breath assaulting Hisana's sense of smell. "Well? What's the matter with you?" she asked harshly. "Where is the damage?"

Before Hisana had the time to give Koito a proper answer, the woman was already beginning to undress her in the office. Yes, the same office with the open window for anyone to see Hisana's humiliation.

Fumbling with the robes, Koito yanked the kimono down enough for her to see the wounds marking Hisana's back and arms. "What the hell were  _you_  thinking?" she yelled, grabbing Hisana by the hair and pulling her down. With an open palm, Koito slapped Hisana across the face. "Don't even dare," she said threateningly the moment Hisana's hand shot up to assuage the burning sensation lingering on cheek.

"What were you thinking?" Koito asked again, still gripping tresses of Hisana's hair in her hand. "Are you stupid? Or did you just  _enjoy_  it?" she asked rhetorically, shoving Hisana into a wall.

"Don't have that stupid expression on your face!" Koito chided, returning to her seat at the desk. "And look what you did to your kimono!"

Disoriented, Hisana glanced down to find that indeed her kimono had been torn at the sleeve. 'It must have happened in the struggle,' she thought grimly to herself.

"Let me make a note to the bookkeeper just  _how much money_  you have just cost the House tonight! The cost of two clients who will have to be given to another girl will be added to your debt. The cost of a new kimono and the cost of medical expenses! I just don't know how we're going to make it like this. If  _every_  girl caused us this much trouble, we'd cease to be in existence! I just don't know how we're going to make all this money up." She punctuated her disapproval with a slow shake of her head. "I just don't know. We're going to have to cut costs somewhere, Hisana. There are going to have to be consequences. No food for the rest of the week for you. None. If you want to eat, you're going to have to get the money on your own. We're not paying for it."

Hisana bit down hard on the inside of her lip. She bit down so hard she could taste the metallic flavor of blood. "Yes, ma'am," she said, nodding her head subserviently.

"Get the hell out of here! Right now!" Koito exclaimed, pointing to the exit.

With as much haste as she could muster, Hisana left the appointment room and scurried back to her dormitory where she quickly shed her kimono and replaced it with a thinner and less expensive yukata. The yukata was fraying and in tatters but she took solace in the fact that it belonged to no one but herself. After nimbly tying the sash with the fewest possible motions, she quickly bent to collect the torn kimono.

'The House will not want it,' she mused bitterly. 'And there is nothing I can possibly do with it now that it is torn.' And that is when a sly thought arrived. 'I'll sell it. I could get a nice sum for it in Rukongai where even the upper class there isn't so picky about such things and would offer me a nice price.'

She was going to leave for Rukongai anyway, why not make some money along the way?

"I'll take the other one as well. They don't even know about it," she said quietly under her breath.

She collected the two "ruined" kimonos, folded them, grabbed her district notification, slipped on her sandals, and moved into the dark of nightfall. A few well executed steps past the guard and she was home free.

She did manage to make it past the guard; however, when she reached a small bridge she fell prey to a loose plank. She would have fallen flat on her face, she was sure, if she had not been caught by a very firm almost painful grasp from a hand.

Staring wide-eyed at the rows of wooden planks only a few inches below her, she inhaled a deep breath and swallowed hard. "Stupid board," she snapped the moment she felt the rush of adrenaline course through her veins.

"It was your poorly executed flash-step."

She prickled at the sound of the voice. She knew that low, self-satisfied-cum-arrogant tone well. 'He's like a bad coin,' her inner voice spat. Hesitant and trying to mask her derision, she looked up to see the noble. Great warmth flared in her body – heating her cheeks, shoulders, and back – and she wondered, very briefly, if it was embarrassment or frustration that elicited the response.

She wanted to sputter something inappropriate up at him. She wanted to wipe that smug look off his face. Years of having the Rukongai mannerisms beaten out of her at the House proved to be her staying point. Instead, she merely glowered in his general direction.

"Lord Kuchiki," she muttered, "good evening." She straightened her posture, and attempted to pick up the pieces of her composure that had shattered moments prior. Instinctively, she glared at the hand that had saved her from the fall. His long fingers gripped the top of her arm with the same amount of force he had used to initially stabilize her, and she wondered when exactly he was going to release her. 'Probably not until he has properly chastised me for leaving the Pleasure Quarters.' Upon realizing that he could very well turn her in for disciplinary action for straying from her niche, Hisana rolled her head back and inhaled an audible breath.

"What are you doing here?" he asked pointedly.

Hisana's gaze flitted up to check his countenance. It was an involuntary, instinctual reaction on her part. She had not meant for him to see it. But, even through the darkness shading his face, she could tell he was watching her. The dark wells veiling his eyes lifted when he inclined his head. His stern gaze caught hers, rendering her temporarily dumbfounded.

"I," she began, trying to find her voice in the back of her parched throat, "I could ask you the same thing. Aren't high-ranking clansmen supposed to be escorted by their entourage at all times?"

His eyes narrowed at her impertinence. "Aren't courtesans to remain in the Pleasure Quarters?"

She raised her head in defiance, and cocked a brow. "Why is a noble this far out of Seireitei?" she asked, trying to soften the hardness in her voice.

He didn't respond.

"Forgive me for my impudence. I was merely on my way to sell these garments. I suppose I had not realized just how far I had strayed from my House."

"You ' _suppose'_?" he repeated, telegraphing his disbelief loud and clear.

Hisana averted her gaze to the wooden banister of the bridge. She could almost hear him italicize the last word. "Please, pardon my intrusion." She would have bowed if not for his grip on her arm.

'He's still holding me. I wonder if he even knows…' she wondered to herself. Her eyes trailed to his hand.

Byakuya followed her gaze, and immediately released her as if her arm was on fire. He quickly opened his mouth to fire out an apology or an insult; his brain had not quite decided when he heard a muffled giggle emanate from her.

"Why are you out here? In Rukongai of all places?" she asked, lowering her head politely. She was really wondering why he had not dismissed her altogether and left.

He watched her with great caution. She could tell he wanted to say something to her, but she was almost positive pride would hinder him. She was a commoner – a whore at that – after all. He didn't have to explain himself to most, and definitely not to her.

"It is quiet," he answered at length.

Hisana was about to bow her goodbye when her head shot up. Shock wrote its way across her face. "Yes, it is," she whispered in a strangled breath.

For some absurd reason she felt compelled to delay his departure. Even though she found his hubris annoying, he was at least genuine in his execution. She glanced up to find him staring out onto the small ravine that ran under the bridge.

"You left your garments at the Peony House," she said in a soft voice.

"I did."

She nodded her head unsure if it was a question or an admission. "I wasn't sure what to do. I thought sending a message to your estate would be in bad taste considering your-" She paused, deciding that declaring him prejudiced would not endear her to him any more than she had already. "I also did not want to send the items by a courier. The scarf alone must be worth a small fortune. I did not want them to be stolen."

"I will make an appointment to-"

"No," she interrupted, shaking her head as she spoke, "you don't have to go to the trouble. All you need to do is have a servant come by and ask for them in the morning."

She could see him tense in response, and, for a passing moment, she wondered if her words had unnerved him.

"I could retrieve them now," he offered.

Hisana's gaze drifted to the garments cuddled against her chest. She had come all this way to sell the items so she could have food for herself. She had braved the inherent danger of abandoning her place in Soul Society so she could search for that missing piece of her. She had a duty to perform. "I-I," she stuttered, "would you mind if I sold these first?"

He blinked. His face remained stoic as ever, but she could tell by his mien (for it was not noticeably irritated) that he was considering her request. He lifted his head, and with a remote look in his eye he stared at her.

"I would like the company if you could spare it," she added gently. To her shock and, well, amazement, he nodded his head in the affirmative. All she could do was blink her eyes. She was stunned and unsure whether or not what she had just seen was true or merely the darkness toying with her. Assuming it was the former, she offered a nervous smile, and, hugging the folded kimonos firmly against her chest, she took a step forward.

"You  _do_  know how to flash-step?" she asked teasingly.

His eyes narrowed at the insinuation, and he took a step. If not for the bored look on his face, Hisana would have fancied him offended.

"I was going to ask you a similar question," he fired off.

She smiled at his arrogance. "You know what? I think you're all talk and no substance. So, I'll wager a challenge," she said, trying her best to stifle a chuckle. "I bet I can beat you in a game of flash-step from here to the gate of the 78th District."

His brows pulled together over hooded eyes. He said not a word.

"Fine then, I guess I'll just have to take it easy on you," she said glibly.

In truth, it took every fiber in her body  _not_  to burst into a fit of laughter at her own bravado – bravado that she knew was heavily manufactured. She had never been particularly  _skilled_  at flash-step, and she was willing to bet her life on the fact that he  _was_. But she'd be damned if she was waylaid before reaching the 78th, and she really had no desire to  _walk_  that far.

"You're going to regret making that challenge," he said in a low gravel.

' _Oh, I bet I am.'_

"Okay," she said, putting her weight on her right foot. With a slight tilt of her head she was off, effectively making her preemptive strike. Not that handicapping him was going to work for long, she thought grimly to herself. Given the strength she sensed from him during their first meeting, she was relatively sure it would be a miracle if she kept up with  _his_  clip.

'Maybe he's all strength and no mobility,' she thought wistfully to herself.

But she had a feeling that he was not as blundering as she was at speed. She had to push herself far too hard to keep up with what she  _knew_  was him holding back his ability. She was certain of it. When they reached the 78th District she had been soundly beaten despite her greatest of efforts. Grinding to halt, she was all pants and gasps while he stood nonchalantly with arms folded in front of his chest.

"That was an  _unfortunate_ performance," he mocked.

She glanced up at him with a bright smile and a glint in her eye. "Well, you  _weren't_  as fast as I was expecting," she managed to rib between labored breaths. No, indeed, he was much  _faster_ , she noted wryly to herself.

Her smile, however, proved to be infectious. For when she straightened her posture and surveyed him she could see the lines in his face smoothed into a look of amusement. The mask had shifted from stoically neutral to stoically content.

Sufficiently caught up on her oxygen needs, Hisana took a few steps forward and jerked her chin in the direction of the district. "I know where a clothier is."

His brows knitted together at the sudden realization of what their purpose was this far out in Rukongai. "Why here?" he asked; his disgust with his surroundings finally set in as the two walked the dirty streets.

Hisana glanced up at him; she appeared apprehensive as if she  _wanted_  to be honest but could not find the means. She offered him a staid smile in lieu of an actual explanation. "Never been out this far?" she digressed playfully.

He followed closely beside her. His attention had drifted elsewhere – to the dilapidated buildings lining the streets and to the poorly dressed peasants wandering a stone's throw away. The dusty streets were severely overcrowded with souls. If Hisana had not had the foresight to grab his hand before the two had entered the fray, they would surely have been separated. Byakuya only took minor umbrage at the feeling of her hand grasped around his. There were  _other_  things – things that managed to offend all five senses – that bothered him more.

Again, why were they there? More importantly, why was  _he_  there deep in the heart of Soul Society's slums? The last question kept shoving itself to the forefront of his thoughts, and every time he knocked it back because he could not come up with a suitable response.

Hisana abruptly paused at a small nondescript kiosk.

Byakuya would have kept his pace in the flow of the denizens had he not felt a jerk on his hand immediately followed by Hisana releasing him. As much as he hated to admit it, he glanced down at the feeling of empty air. His fingers curled into his palm, and he tucked the afflicted hand into the fabric of his black hakama.

Hisana turned her head to the side and glanced up at Byakuya, who stood a hairsbreadth from her. She shot him a small conciliatory grin before glancing back at the burly vendor. Catching his attention, she proffered one of the kimonos – the one that Byakuya had destroyed only a few nights ago. "How much can I get for this?" she asked in a thick Rukongai dialect.

The man quickly unfurled the robe and gave it an onceover. "300?" he muttered.

"500," she countered. The pale sheen of moonbeams reflected off her eyes giving them a hardened appearance.

"350."

"450."

He glanced over at the fabric, stained and all, and his lips thinned. "400 – final offer."

She nodded her head. "Do you have a sewing kit?"

Turning his back to her, he quickly folded the material and snatched a small box off a low hanging shelf. "This," he said assuredly.

She glanced down at the clear plastic box displaying four needles and some thread in a few basic colors – red, black, white, and blue. "Take it out of the cost." She slid the box off the counter, and with a flick of her wrist she tucked it into her yukata.

"What about the other kimono you have there," he said, spying the robe she held pressed against her person.

She shook her head. "Not for sale."

He frowned in response before turning to fetch the agreed upon sum – disappearing into a back room.

Hisana glanced over to Byakuya to see him staring down at her hand that was resting on the counter. Reflexively, she followed his gaze to discover that the sleeve of her yukata had hitched up, exposing her bruised wrist. Even in the remittent lamplight the darkened flesh was noticeable. Her stomach flipped and an icy breath caught in her chest. She pulled her hand down to her side, feeling the sleeve fall back into place. In a chilled panic, she panned the kiosk and counter for other possible sources of interest, hoping that she had mistaken his look. 'Perhaps he was just observing some of the fabric,' she reassured herself. It was a flimsy excuse, she knew, but it was the only one her brain could construct on the fly. It provided temporary relief as she searched his face again.

Locking his gaze on hers, Byakuya lifted his head, obviously preparing to say  _something_. His lips parted, but he was soon interrupted as a small boy squeezed in between them.

"Miss Hisana!" the boy called. His round dirt-stained face was beaming as he looked up at her. "Mai has some news for you!"

She smiled warmly down at the boy. "Jun," she said canorously. She patted the child on the head. Mid-stroke, however, her hand quickly traveled down to his shoulder where she grasped the top of his arm. With a fluid yet gentle tug, she pulled his arm up, and pried open his hand. The boy was surprisingly responsive to her movements, and was quick to relent. "That was not very  _nice_ ," she noted drily, referencing Byakuya who stood with widened eyes and a look of surprise etched into his face.

"Return the satchel," she chided.

The boy's head dropped, and with great shame he turned to Byakuya. Opening his hand, he offered the small purse. "I am sorry," he sighed, depressed that he had been exposed.

Byakuya plucked his belonging from the boy and stuffed it into another  _closer_  pocket of his kimono. He then looked askance at Hisana as if to demand an explanation for such behavior.

She merely smiled her reply and shrugged. "Welcome to Inuzuri."

"We're stationed at the riverbank on the Southside when you're ready! Mai said she saw  _her_  today," Jun chirped cheerfully before taking a few steps away from the kiosk. Making a wild waving gesticulation with his arm, he smiled sweetly at Hisana. "See you there!" he called before being swallowed by the crowd.

Hisana returned his gesture. "Bye, Jun," she shouted into the deluge of souls.

Turning to Byakuya, she found him carefully counting the money that apparently had been handed to  _her_  by the clothier. "Hey!" she said, watching him with great amusement. "I  _can_ count."

He glanced over her head, and eyed the vendor. "How much was the sewing kit?"

"17."

"You owe her 30."

The man gave a half-grin in response to Byakuya's curtness. Quietly, he turned to his make-shift register and opened it.

Hisana watched the exchange, somewhat shocked by the tension and the fact that it was going rather well. She would have cut her losses, realizing that to argue the point would have just ended in having one of the "enforcers" in the area being called on her. Byakuya, however, carried himself in manner that reeked of "Fuck over at your own risk."

'The sword also adds nicely to the façade,' Hisana noted wryly to herself. She then furrowed her brows at the observation. She had not noticed the sword  _before_  then. In fact, she was rather taken aback that he would even know how to wield a sword for  _combative purposes_. It was strange on her part, she had to admit. He did ooze reiatsu when provoked – it just didn't fit. Or, at least, it fit but she had never considered the possibility that he was anything more than a spoiled brat.

But at that moment, he wasn't behaving in a particularly spoiled or bratty manner. He was actually  _helping_  her –  _benefitting_  her – for no other reason to which she could attribute beside pure boredom.

"Thank you," she whispered softly into the thick heavy air. She doubted that he heard her words of gratitude over the raucous noise that filled the marketplace.

Taking the money from the man, Byakuya thumbed through the currency to make sure the correct amount had been delivered. Once he was satisfied, he handed her the money, and acknowledged the vendor one last time to give a shallow bow of his head.

The burly man held Byakuya's gaze for a beat longer than was necessary. His eyes then fell to the sword at Byakuya's side. "Word to the wise," he said jerking his chin at the sword, "around these parts you better be prepared to use that if you're gonna carry it around."

Byakuya's gaze narrowed at the man's advice. His eyes deadened and a stony expression quickly replaced his look of satisfaction.

Hisana offered the vendor a smile, and gently nudged Byakuya forward. "Here," she said softly as she removed some of the money from the stack, "for your troubles." She proffered the amount he had saved her from the unscrupulous clothier.

Byakuya hesitated. Not saying anything.

"Don't refuse. You didn't have to do that back there, and you certainly didn't have to be kind enough to offer your companionship this far out."

He paused – still as ever.

"Please," she pleaded. Gently, she took his right hand in both of hers and placed the currency in his palm. "It isn't much, but-" She paused, smiling.

He was positively disarmed by her; she was such a confounding woman. Half the time he was sure she was the most impudent, devious woman he ever had the displeasure of meeting. The other half, he wasn't sure how to respond to her actions; they were either ludicrous and outright vexing or they were...

He gave an imperceptible shake of his head, banishing the latter musing from his thoughts.

"Would you like something to eat?" she asked genially enough, but he had a sneaking suspicion that she was up to something.

"No," he answered; his voice clipped.

She nodded her head understandingly. "I need to speak with someone here," she began, gazing up at him obligingly, "it would be rude if I did not bring a gift of food."

He stared at her.

"Would you care to escort me? I promise that once it is over I will fetch you your items and you'll never have to see me again. We will be strangers afterward – our tenuous ties forever cut."

The latter proposition did pique his interest. Being free of any association to  _this_   _woman_  would be a boon, he told himself. What did a few more moments matter? He _was_  already there in the heart of  _peasant hell_.

Hisana gently took his hand in hers again, and the two wound the busy streets to another vender. This time Byakuya was more keenly aware of himself and surroundings. He was no longer in Seireitei where the rule of law held firm. He was now among thieves and criminals. Nothing here was sacred.

Hisana paid for some rice and fish, and, with some help from Byakuya, she led the way to the "Southside bank" specified by the boy. Not that it was such a hard group to find mind you, for emanating from the section of the river was a strong and visceral kind of music. The earthy sounds of a two-string lute and a fiddle filled Hisana's and Byakuya's ears. The warm and inviting atmosphere was further punctuated by the hoarse - at times discordant – sound of a male voice singing carefree songs.

Hisana paused at the top of a small embankment looking down on the group. Bright lanterns illuminated what the full moon refused to reveal, a motley assortment of men and women, including the boy. Not too far from where the band had settled for the evening was the river. The dark rushing water only added to the folksy ambiance.

Hisana smiled widely – a toothy ear-to-ear type of smile. Even her eyes reflected her joy at seeing the small tribe and hearing their lively music. Remembering herself and who she was with, she turned her head and gazed into Byakuya's face. He appeared contemplative in his patently indifferent manner. She could tell he was somewhat intrigued by the swirls of color and the sounds shortly below them. She, however, was not sure if it was a "good" sort of intrigued or indignation he felt.

"It won't be long," she assured him in case of the latter. Not sparing another syllable, the two continued down to the group, bearing gifts.

"Good evening," Hisana called, cheerfully announcing their arrival.

"Miss Hisana!" Jun and two other children, another boy and a small girl, yelled at the top of their lungs in unison.

Hisana placed the basket of rice she had been hoisting down so she could properly greet the children with affection. Jun gave her a half-hearted one-armed hug, while the younger boy and girl embraced her thoroughly. "It is so nice to see you, too, Naoki and Fuyu."

Byakuya set down the rice and fish parcels he had been carrying, and watched as two men stood on receiving their guests. The band, however, acknowledged them with a brief halt in merrymaking and a small wave before returning to their music.

"Miss Hisana," the younger man said on reaching her.

Hisana stood holding the girl child tightly against her side. "Dai," she said, smiling kindly at the younger man before turning to acknowledge the older gentleman, "Joji."

"Who is this here?" Joji asked setting his sights on Byakuya.

Byakuya looked the old man over. He was small and frail with a thick and unkempt mane of white hair. Gripped in between Joji's gnarled and boney fingers was an equally as knotted cane. Byakuya's gaze then drifted to the younger man, who was probably a few years Byakuya's junior. He stood at least a head taller than Hisana; he was spry in form, and relatively well-groomed considering the conditions of Inuzuri.

Hisana glanced back at Byakuya and held his gaze. A lopsided grin thinned her lips, and she answered with a simple, "He's just a friend of mine."

"Does this  _friend_  have a name," Joji further questioned.

Averting her gaze to the dark river, Hisana smiled as she watched the light from both the moon and lanterns dance on the waves. "The Lighted Riverbend," she answered in a wistful tenor.

"Don't get cheeky, girl," Joji retorted drily, pointing a finger at her.

Hisana smiled and shook her head. "I brought rice and fish for the group," she said, diverting the topic in the sweetest tone she could muster.

"You are a godsend, Miss Hisana," Dai said, bowing deeply. "We cannot thank you-" Dai was instantly silenced when Joji smacked him on the back with his cane.

"Stop going on like a  _woman_. If you want to impress the girl, start acting like a man!"

Hisana lowered her head, and offered Dai a smile. 'I'm so sorry,' she mouthed.

Embarrassed, the boy dropped his head. "Mai is out collecting berries with Ikio. She should be back shortly, but if you're in a hurry Orin may have the information you are looking for."

Hisana nodded her head. "Where might Orin be?"

"She is in her tent over there," Dai said tilting his head to the right, "I would be careful, though. She may be  _entertaining guests_."

Hisana gave Dai a knowing glance. "Thank you." She then shifted the sleeping Fuyu off her hip. Gently, she handed the child to Byakuya who appeared completely  _astounded_  by her action. His unease, however, went completely unnoticed by Hisana, who left the men without a sparing them a second glance.

"I'll start preparations for the rice," Dai said, eyeing Byakuya with an amused look.

"Good, good. It has been a long time since we've had anything substantial," Joji replied, waving his hand back and forth as if he was swatting away a fly.

"This Eternal Fountain of Youth or whatever the hell Hisana called him will surely be of assistance to you."

Byakuya's eyes widened. He had never made rice a day in his life. In fact, his knowledge of food was limited only to its consumption; he knew nothing of how to prepare it.

"Here, here, give me the child. She can be a brat, but there is no need to cook her as well. Not when we have such nice fish," Joji said reaching up for the girl cradled in Byakuya's arms.

Byakuya jerkily handed Fuyu over to Joji, who despite his rather fragile appearance was quite adroit. With greater ease than Byakuya had managed, Joji cuddled the child in his arms.

Tying the sleeves of his kimono back with a tasuki, Dai watched Joji with a bemused expression. "What are you going to do to contribute, old man?"

Joji threw his head back and gave a hardy chuckle. "I'm management, son. I'll pull up a stool and  _supervise_."

Byakuya's eyelids drooped in reply, and Dai chuckled. "I  _figured_ ," Dai murmured turning his gaze to Byakuya. "Here," he said, handing a spare tasuki to the stranger.

Byakuya took the sash in his hands, and placing one end of the tasuki in his mouth he pulled the thin strip of material forward and under his left arm before drawing it back and around his right arm. He then quickly tied the two ends together.

Giving Dai a cursory look he discovered that the man was taking stock of the amount of rice that had been gifted to them.

"Wow! This is a lot, thank you," Dai said excitedly. "Thank you so much!" And placing his hands together a few inches from his face, he bowed deeply.

Byakuya observed the man with a quiet distance. He had never seen someone become so overjoyed by something as trifling as  _rice_.

"Dai, the rice!" Joji snapped at the boy.

"Oh, yes," he said straightening his posture. He glanced back at Byakuya, and, astutely reading him, Dai smiled. "Come, we have to collect water." Dai then grabbed a small bucket for himself and handed one to Byakuya.

The two men moved from the small campfire toward the river a few yards away. Dipping his bucket into the dark water, Dai gave Byakuya a sidelong glance. "If you don't mind my asking, where did you meet Hisana?"

Byakuya noted that Dai's gaze had conspicuously dropped to the sword hanging from his hakama-himo. He said nothing in reply.

"That was a stupid question," Dai said aloud, "you probably met her in Seireitei."

Byakuya stared at him blankly as he scooped some water into his bucket.

"She never brings anyone with her. You must be very special," Dai continued wistfully.

Again, Byakuya merely observed the boy with a deadpan expression.

Once the two had filled their containers, they returned to the campfire where the old Joji was seated on a rickety stool. The girl child had awoken from her slumber and was drawing pictures of animals in the loose dirt with a twig. Seeing Byakuya, her head bobbed up and she smiled tiredly. "Miss Hisana?" she asked loudly.

Dai shook his head. "Fuyu, Hisana is talking with Orin. She'll be back."

"Talking to Orin?" the girl parroted, lacking total tonality.

Dai nodded.

"About her sister?" Fuyu added.

Dai smiled at her, but did not respond.

"Will she stay long, brother?"

Dai just stared, clearly unsure of what to say. "I don't know, Fuyu. I don't know."

Joji watched the exchange under heavy white brows. "Fuyu, go play with Jun and Naoki. You're killing the mood here," he said, pounding the end of his cane against the ground.

The girl complied. With great lassitude, she stood and wandered over to her brothers. She looked to be in a stupor, Byakuya observed as he placed his bucket down. She probably had some spiritual pressure and could not sustain herself on the meager food the group could scrounge up for themselves. Her being the youngest probably did work in her favor, either.

"Put a third of your water in the pot over there," Dai directed gently, "while I wash the rice with mine."

Joji glared at the boy, annoyed. "I think the man knows how to make rice, Dai."

Dai merely lifted his brows at the suggestion, but did not argue the point.

"So you're a friend of Hisana?" Joji murmured, eyeing Byakuya like a hawk does its prey.

Byakuya acknowledged the man with only the most fleeting of glances before turning his attention back to the pot he was filling. There was something intensely odd about being regarded as a  _friend_  to anyone. He held many titles in his life, but never once had he be referred to as a friend.

But, he wasn't her friend, he bitterly reminded himself. She had merely called him a friend to hand-wave away his presence to the others. Other than acquaintances, they served no relation to one another, and, by the end of the night, even that fragile tie would be severed.

"You don't talk much do you, boy?" Joji spat in an accusatory tone.

"Joji," Dai sighed.

Byakuya glared up at the man. His eyes were narrowed and the lines in his face blackened in the shade of nightfall.

Joji laughed at his response. "There's some spirit in you, huh? I haven't seen a look so threatening since I ran into a shinigami a few years back. You wouldn't happen to be one of those, now, would you?" While the man's tone was light, there was a certain sting to them that smarted.

Byakuya held his tongue, however.

Dai glanced up from his job washing the rice, and stared at Byakuya. Byakuya could tell the kid wanted to ask him something, and he had a sinking suspicion what.

"Is Miss Hisana-" the kid stopped just short of finishing the question. Even in the flickering light of the fire, one could easily spot the pink that colored his cheeks.

"Dai, get your head out of your ass," Joji said sternly, "Hisana is not the type of woman for you. She's not the type of woman for any sane man."

Byakuya's gaze betrayed him for it shot up just shortly after Joji's declaration had been made. He quickly corrected his error but to no avail. Joji had caught his look and chuckled.

"She's like a capricious wind," Joji began, shaking his head as he spoke. "She will never be satisfied unless she can wander. And that does-"

"-does not make for a very good wife," Dai chimed in, completing Joji's sentence as if he had heard it 100 times before.

Joji's wrinkled lips pulled back into a grin. "And her shamisen – have you ever heard her shamisen?" he asked, directing his attention to Byakuya.

Byakuya shook his head and uttered a quiet, "No."

"Good. Save yourself the pain and refuse her when she asks. It is terrible. And any woman who can't play the shamisen adequately is not good marrying stock."

Dai frowned at the man's logic. "I think that is presumptuous."

The two men continued to bicker over the qualities all fine women possess when Byakuya caught sight of Hisana standing outside of a tent talking to another woman. She gave the woman a bow, and she was beginning her way back to the camp when she spotted Byakuya helping the men prepare rice.

She could have laughed. He looked to be in great distress – like a cat who manages to escape from a river. Indeed, if she had been pressed to describe the noble at that moment, "drowned cat" would have been the descriptive used. Hisana, however, stifled the giddy feeling in her chest and offered him an understanding smile as she neared the threesome.

'If he didn't loathe the sight of me before…'

"Dai," she began, "how long has Mai been picking berries?"

Dai immediately jumped to his feet and gave her a hasty bow. "Miss Hisana," he hiccupped out of shock for she had approached him from the rear. "Mai has been out since before dusk."

Hisana nodded her head. "Does she -"

"That child does whatever the hell she wishes," Joji answered, glancing back at her.

Hisana turned to Byakuya, who stubbornly refused to acknowledge her presence now that she was a few feet away. She smiled, bemused by him. 'He has a right to be angry. Being treated like a commoner among commoners is probably more humility than he can handle in one day.'

"I have a gift for her when she arrives back to the camp. Tell her to see Orin when you see her, okay?"

Byakuya gave Hisana a quick onceover to see what she could have possibly offered as a gift. Realizing that she was no longer holding a kimono to her breast, he assumed that was the present.

"As much as I would like to stay, I feel that it would be best for me and my guest to leave. Dawn breaks in only a few hours."

Byakuya didn't need to be told twice. He quickly stood, and began brushing himself off.

"Are you sure we can't entice you to stay, Miss Hisana?" Dai asked politely.

She glanced over at Byakuya who had "no" written across his face. "Not this time, Dai. Hopefully the next time I see you, we can spend more time together."

Dai smiled wide.

"But there is one thing," Hisana began much to Byakuya's chagrin for he was already turning in the direction whence they came, "Mai. It has been so long, and it is so dark." She pressed her index finger to her lips, and she glanced up pensively. She appeared worried.

"Don't worry. That girl is fine," Joji said, waving his hand dismissively at the thought.

Hisana didn't look so easily convinced. She pressed her lips together, and her brows furrowed at the prospect something could have gone terribly wrong for the girl. "I don't know," she said, shaking her head, "I just feel uneasy about it."

Dai placed a hand on her shoulder. "You can stay and take a meal with us. She'll probably be back before then."

Hisana's gaze trailed to the heavy thicket that flanked the river. Her eyes widened the moment she felt a shift in spiritual pressure. "Don't you feel that?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder at Byakuya.

He stood erect with eyes narrowed as he tried to locate the exact position. Instinctively, he placed a hand to the hilt of his sword. "It's a hollow," he murmured to himself.

Hisana caught his words, and took a defensive stance. "It's coming from those woods."

"Dai!" Fuyu cried, pointing at the forest. "It's Mai!"

Hisana quickly flash-stepped to the edge of the thicket. "Mai," she gasped. "Mai!" She gathered the fallen adolescent in her arms.

The girl's words ran together as she tried to speak.

Hisana shushed her as she observed the damage that had been dealt. The girl was deathly pale. Sweat collected in beads across her forehead, and while Hisana could not make out the extent of Mai's wounds in the darkness, she could definitely feel a familiar sticky wetness seeping from Mai's kimono. The pungent odor of blood was all Hisana needed to confirm her suspicions.

"What happened?" she asked.

"M-mon-monster," Mai gasped, breathing heavily between syllables.

Glancing back at the men, Hisana's eyes widened when she realized Byakuya was missing. Panic washed over her as she searched the area for the noble.

"Miss Hisana," Orin called, having left her tent to investigate the commotion outside. Catching Hisana's attention, Orin waved for Hisana to bring the child into her tent.

Hisana quickly glanced back toward the woods. "I hope he's alright," she murmured, before making haste toward the shelter.

"What happened?" Orin asked, lifting a flap for Hisana.

Hisana merely shook her head, speechless. Shock was beginning to work its way through her system, and she simply had no words.

"Here, set her down on the futon," Orin said as she helped Hisana situate the girl comfortably on the bed. "What supplies do you need?"

Hisana glanced down to find herself dripping in Mai's blood. Her hands were slick with the thick crimson substance, and the fabric of her yukata was soaked and plastered against her torso. Anxiously, she then turned her attention to Mai. The girl had two deep gashes running along her side and across her abdomen. Other superficial scratches marked the girl's arms and face.

Pulling her hair back with her hand, Hisana leaned forward, and began peeling away Mai's tattered kimono. "Give me some hot water, any honey you can spare, bandages, and devil's claw. Also, a cord for my sleeves and another lantern would be nice."

Orin quickly left the tent to collect the items Hisana had named.

Inhaling a deep breath, Hisana pushed her sleeves up and opened her hands. "I hope this works," she murmured under her breath. 'It has been such a long time.'

When Byakuya returned to the camp, his sword was sheathed and he appeared unmoved. "Where is Hisana?" he asked on approaching Dai.

The young man shot up to his feet. He appeared tense and worried. "What happened? Where were you?" Dai sputtered indignantly.

Byakuya ignored Dai's accusatory tone. "Where is Hisana,  _boy_?" he asked again.

"She is in the tent, working on the girl," Orin said, folding her arms in front of her. "You must be that  _friend_  she mentioned."

Byakuya looked the small dark-headed woman over.

"She requested your presence when you returned," Orin added, nodding in the direction of the tent.

Wordlessly, Byakuya flash-stepped to the tent and quietly entered.

Hisana glanced up on feeling the chill of displaced air. She looked ragged and weary as she sat trying to mend the girl's wounds. Dark bags hung under her eyes; her face was pale from exhaustion; and her hands were beginning to shake.

"Where did you learn that technique?" he asked, referencing her use of kido.

Hisana smiled to herself at his observation. For once, he dropped the condescension from his voice and sounded genuinely interested, and she was a little defensive about that. Part of her wanted to assume it was just a trick – paranoia had officially set in she was so tired.

"Where did you get that fancy sword?" she asked, eyeing him knowingly for a passing moment.

A small half-smile lengthened his lips as he glanced down at his zanpakutō. "You trained at the Academy."

Hisana wasn't sure if Byakuya had made an accusation or a question. Either way, she was in no mood to play needless word games, and she glanced back up at him. "Yes – a long time ago."

"What happened to your wrists," he digressed, fixing his gaze on her swollen and bruised arms.

She shrugged. "Work." A small winsome smile thinned her lips. "Not all men are gentlemen," she added, tucking her sore hands into her lap.

"You should bandage that." Byakuya reached for the strips of cloth stationed on a small board to Hisana's side. He then took seiza beside her, and began cleaning the wounds Hisana had not managed to heal with her kido.

"What happened?" he asked, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. She looked ready to pass out. Blood was caked on her yukata, and blood stained her hands.

Hisana lifted Mai's arm up so he could gain access to her waist. "I could ask you the same question," she said softly. "Was there a hollow in the forest?"

He nodded his head slightly. "Yes."

"Are you alright," she asked, inclining her head to get a better look at him.

His gaze flitted up to meet hers. "Yes."

"That is good."

The two continued to bandage the unconscious girl.

Silence hovered over them, threatening any expressions from being uttered. Mai's condition was too fragile to be treated lightly. Deep concentration was required, and the movements needed to be exact.

Once the two had placed the finishing touches on the bandages, Hisana tiredly rested her head against his shoulder. Her eyes closed, and she inhaled a few deep breaths. Byakuya, on the other hand, tensed at her nearness.

Opening her eyes, Hisana stared at Mai's small unconscious form on the bloodied futon. The girl's breathing was labored, and she was as pale as the white pillow stuffed under her head. "She is going to die, isn't she?" Hisana asked.

Byakuya turned his head to the side and glanced down at Hisana. The usually plucky woman was now sedate. Her blue eyes were doleful, and a frown marred her face. Unsure of what to say or do, he merely turned his attention back to Mai. "Yes," he said belatedly.

Hisana nodded her head. "Is there anything else -" Feeling his hand brush against hers, her chest tensed, her lips quivered, and the remaining words ran together in a strangled breath. Unwittingly, her eyes betrayed her.

Byakuya's gaze was soft, probing hers. He wanted to say something – something comforting, something meaningful. As much as he struggled with expressing the intangible, the words were simply not there.

Feeling his stare deepen, Hisana lowered her head. Internally, she tried to piece together her composure. Lifting her head, she mustered a half-hearted smile. There was no use in making Byakuya feel uncomfortable. She was sure the noble could have cared less, anyway. He didn't know Mai, and he made it abundantly clear that he wanted to leave Rukongai. "I think we need to," she began, unsure of herself and her reasoning. She had no idea what words would have followed when she felt his lips pressed firmly against hers. The kiss was coy and gently tantalizing at first. The warmth of his mouth and the shaky, unsure way he placed his hands against her back soothed her.

Hisana moved her hands to the tops of his shoulders, and leaned forward. His natural scent mixing with that of sweat and blood proved intoxicating, lulling her into a warm sense of complacency. She closed her eyes, and her breaths became short and intermittent.

"Miss Hisana?"

Hisana's eyes flew open. It was Dai. His voice was unmistakable as was the inky silhouette playing against the walls of the tent.

She broke away. Her hands slid from his shoulders to the floor. "Dai," she whispered, holding Byakuya's gaze. He appeared slightly taken aback; his eyes darkened, but his stare remained soft as he observed her.

Hisana gave an imperceptible nod of her head before straightening her posture. Her hands shot up to her lap where they rhythmically began to iron out any wrinkles from her dirty yukata.

Pushing open the tent's curtains, Dai announced his arrival with a meek, "Miss Hisana?" His voice garnered the attentions of both Hisana and Byakuya. Both glanced at him with anxious looks and shifty eyes. The strange tension that thickened the air did not go unnoticed by Dai, whose gaze drifted from Byakuya to Hisana.

"The food has been prepared. If you would like?" Dai said after a few stifling moments.

Hisana nodded; her eyes fluttering as she tried to keep a clear head. "Thank you, Dai, but I think we need to leave. It is very late." She felt so lethargic and heavy that even her tongue felt two sizes too big and her words began to slur.

Dai managed a smile. "You look very tired, Miss Hisana."

Pushing off the ground with her hands, Hisana stood. For a few seconds, she teetered – wobbling from side to side – until she felt a firm hand stabilize her efforts. Instinctively, she glanced over her shoulder to see it was Byakuya who had steadied her. She bowed her head politely, and took a step toward Dai.

"It was very nice having you, Miss Hisana. You have done so much," Dai said, trailing after the two once outside the tent.

Pausing, Hisana turned to acknowledge the boy. "I'm so sorry," she said, glancing back at the tent. Her thoughts clearly occupied by the injured Mai.

Dai merely lowered his head betokening the great consternation he felt toward the situation. As much as he tried to find the right uplifting expressions to say, all he could come up with were words of condolence. "Thank you," he murmured.

Hisana bowed low before turning on her heels to leave Dai and bid the others farewell.

Byakuya lingered a few lengths from Dai. His gaze was trained on Hisana as she kneeled to hug the children goodbye. The warm effulgence of the campfire colored the group in flickering shades of oranges, yellows, and reds. The children looked appropriately disheartened when Hisana stood and turned to bid adieu to Orin and Joji. The former gave Hisana a tender hug; the latter made her chuckle.

"You will watch after her?" Dai asked, drawing to Byakuya's side.

Byakuya tucked his chin, and stared sternly into the middle distance. Try as he might, however, he could not completely ignore Dai's wide-eyed and searching gaze. The kid looked so  _pitiful_  as to elicit a response.

Taking a step forward he murmured a low, "She will be returned safely."

Byakuya joined Hisana a few lengths from the campfire where she offered her final bow. The two then turned to wind their way back up the embankment. Silence hung over the pair as they traversed the uneven ground.

Finding the quietness growing unbearable, Byakuya shot her a sidelong stare. "Are you well enough to employ flash-step?"

Hisana glanced up at him, nodding her head. "Yes." And for a brief moment she wondered what he would have proposed if she had answered in the negative.

Without hesitation, he took her hand in his.

She nodded her head in response.

And they were off. The sting of wind tearing at their clothes and the dark muddied landscape careening past them never ceased to amuse Hisana. There was something visceral and primal about the sheer speed. That feeling was further intensified as she was feeding off of Byakuya's own raw power. She barely had to concentrate on navigating the rooftops and varied terrain as they moved from district to district for he was practically dragging her along in his wake.

On reaching the Peony House, Byakuya was quick to grab her arm and keep her equilibrium stable as they stopped. Panting, Hisana glanced back at him and smiled. "Thank you."

"Are you alright?" he asked in his patented deadpan delivery.

She nodded. "Thank you for your company."

He bowed his head, and in a blink of an eye he was gone. Only the smell of burnt earth and a thin veil of dust indicated he was ever there at all.

"But," she called into the receding darkness of dawn, "your garments!" She shook her head and waved her hand in the direction he had gone. Glancing down at her yukata stiff from blood, she sighed. She had more pressing things to do besides chase after the noble. He would just have to send a servant for his haori and scarf in the morning.

After bathing and dressing for the night, it was already daybreak. The cruel sun beat down on the streets of Seireitei with a sadistic kind of glow, Hisana mused miserably as she glanced out a nearby window. She had just set her futon out to go to bed, but sleep was a long time coming.

Tiredly, she began patting down her arms, hoping it would increase her alertness. It did not. All it did was make her acutely aware of just how much her muscles and body ached from the night before. With no respite in sight, she sluggishly crossed the floor to her room and pulled back the door.

Her footsteps were heavy as she padded her way down to the vestibule of the Peony House. Catching the attention of one of the attendants, she waved the girl near.

"Miss Hisana!" the girl cried on getting a closer look. "You look terrible – absolutely horrific! I heard what happened last night, but I did not think it was  _this_  bad."

Hisana waved her hand, effectively silencing the girl's incessant prattling. "I am expecting a call by a Kuchiki servant. Please, notify me immediately when that happens."

The girl blinked dumbly. "Yes, ma'am."

Mid-turn, Hisana paused and glanced back at the attendant. "Oh, when will Dr. Nur be in?"

"He's making rounds right now. He should be down your way shortly."

Hisana turned on her heel and wandered back to her room where she promptly collapsed on her futon.

When the hard knock at the door came, Hisana got up expecting it to be Dr. Nur. Shoving the door back she looked up with a groggy expression and half-lidded eyes. She received a great shock to find Byakuya in the doctor's stead. Her eyes widened and her jaw went slack. "Lord Kuchiki," she exclaimed. Hearing her own voice elicited a chill down her spine – she sounded gauche even to her ears. She could only imagine what  _he_  thought of it.

Instinctively, she took a small step back to allow him entrance. "I didn't think you'd…" The moment their eyes locked her lips silenced. He looked drained, exhausted even. Large dark circles framed his eyes; his usually pale skin now appeared blanched; and his well-coiffed mane was tangled and wild. He looked frazzled. Yet despite his obvious fatigue, his mien was still aloof.

But, there was something amiss, Hisana thought. 'He looks determined…'

Breaking from his gaze, she glanced down to see him holding a bundle of fabric in his arms. She could only venture a guess as to what it was.

"You didn't have to make an appointment," she said, meeting his stare. "I…" She paused, unsure of where she was going with that. Narrowing her thoughts to what needed to be said, she began again. "Please, come in while I fetch you your items." It came off sounding rehearsed, she had to admit, but she wasn't sure what else to say. He had been so kind to her the night before - she didn't want to impose herself, especially given the agreed upon conditions of his kindness. He had, after all, stayed with her because she had promised to cut their ties forever. As of then they should have been no more than strangers.

'Maybe I am hallucinating,' she mused as she rocked her weight back on the heels of her feet. But before she had the chance to turn, he stopped her with a well-placed tug on her sleeve.

Wheeling back around to face him, Hisana's attention immediately turned to Byakuya. She appeared alarmed and somewhat flummoxed by his behavior. 'What does he want?' she kept asking herself.

She tilted her head up, and carefully scrutinized his countenance for any traces of emotion. She was half-expecting him to be glowering at her – angry for some reason that eluded her tired mind. But from what she could discern there were no signs of anguish or frustration darkening his visage. In fact, to her eyes at least, he looked rather confused himself.

"Is there," she began, but before she had the question out right, he had caught her lips with his own.

Pangs of guilt were quick to assail her heart as Hisana fisted her hands in his hair. The feelings of guilt, however, were quickly overridden by the surge of endorphins rushing through her on feeling his mouth against her neck.

A pleasured sigh escaped her as she threw her head back. His body seemingly melted against hers as she closed her eyes. A wave of warm comfort washed over her body, combating any remnant of pain that once existed there before.

As his mouth began to travel down her neck toward her clavicle, she felt her body instinctively arch up. 'Stop it,' her inner pragmatist chanted in her head. 'This isn't right.'

His hands trailed down from her shoulders to her back, and he pushed her closer. Her undergarment felt smooth and cold to the touch, and, under the flimsy fabric, he could feel her muscles twitch in response to his fingers. It was an alluring combination.

"Please," she whispered against his shoulder, "we really shouldn't." The last part she wondered if she even said aloud, because that certainly was not how she was feeling.

She did know which of them had led the other to the futon, but, before she realized it, the familiar ruffle of bodies hitting the bed and sheets filled her ears. Everything was quickly becoming a blur. The silk of her kimono had been shed as had his. And his form, hard and firm, molded against hers. The heat from his body burned her, teased her, and sensuously mixed with the sticky sweet summer air.

And then she did something against her very code as a courtesan.

She took.

 


	4. Stage Four: Intimacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of their tryst, Hisana rejects Byakuya's patronage.

**Stage Four: Intimacy**

Hisana felt strange – empty yet full. The burn from hours ago slaked. But, as she sat in front of her mirror, she stared ahead in thought.

Shakily, fingertips ghosted over the skin of her neck.

Memories of the flesh still warmed her, comforted her, and made her stomach tighten in repulsion. It was an indignant act. It was profligacy in its most concentrated of forms.

She could still feel the heat—the biting temperature—of him against her. His essence, his pressure, his energy had pierced her and now was sinking in. The act was finally sinking in. And, she was wanton enough to enjoy it even if the more pragmatic and emotionally detached part of her bemoaned her indulgence.

Drawing from her cocoon of thoughts, Hisana’s gaze met her reflection. She looked guilty of something. Dressed neatly in his gift, a yukata, she examined herself with a discerning gaze. Her expression was blank, and her eyes were lifeless.

Contrition, however, came in waves; it was the trough of her feelings, and the crest was pleasure.

'Was it even  _wrong_?' she wondered, thoughtlessly chewing on her bottom lip. 'He paid for a service. I was merely the purveyor. It was a business transaction.’

'Then, why doesn't it feel like business as usual?' the strange and morbidly content part of her questioned.

'Well, what did he think? Did  _he_ think it was just business?' she wondered. Her gaze drifted down to her lap where she was unconsciously wringing her hands.

'Why do you  _care_  what he thinks? What do  _you_  think about this?'

She blinked, hoping it would help clear her thoughts. It did not. She was at a loss for what she  _was_  feeling for the experience was fractured—two very different poles pulled at her. It made her uneasy.

She dropped her head, and inhaled a deep breath. What had been done was done. She was not of a mind to change it. It just  _was._

Feeling tired and emotionally spent, Hisana stood, and, unthinkingly, she trailed the familiar corridors to her Big Sister's room. Hesitantly, she knocked on the door, and prayed for silence.

"Come in," Ichisumi answered behind the rice paper.

Hisana pulled the door back smoothly, silently.

"Hisana, you look wretched!" Ichisumi exclaimed. Immediately, the older woman stood to receive Hisana. "What happened?"

Hisana shook her head. It was the only reply she could manage. Her throat was parched; her stomach tightened; and her gaze glued to the floor in embarrassment. She was beginning to regret her decision to seek her big sister's counsel.

Feeling the chill of hands against her heated cheeks, Hisana glanced up to see her sister's worried face.

Ichisumi offered Hisana a small smile. "What could have you this upset this early in the morning?"

Hisana's reply was measured, almost strained, in execution: "I may have done something terrible."

Ichisumi's brows furrowed, and she took on a pensive expression. "Sit," she said as she gently guided Hisana to a sitting mat. "What happened?"

"I – I think I may have done something terrible."

"Yes," Ichisumi said evenly, "you said that already. What terrible crime do you think you have committed?"

"I think I may have," she paused, terrified of how she could possibly finish that sentence. "I may have been taken in…"

Ichisumi smiled sweetly at her little sister's words. "When did this happen?"

"Today—this morning."

"What happened to make you think this?"

Lowering her gaze, Hisana shook her head. "I just felt it. I felt—I don't know what I felt. I just know it was  _wrong_."

Ichisumi nodded her head empathetically. "Hisana, I don't know if this going to make you feel better, but every woman here has or will experience that. It is too hard not to get tricked into it."

Hisana's head bobbed up at the confession. A look of relief or a sense of camaraderie brightened her downcast expression if only for a brief moment. With wide eyes, she quietly implored her big sister to continue.

Ichisumi grinned at her protégé's respite. "It's a well-known secret here, but every courtesan worth her salt has had her heart betray her. We entertain men—often times interesting men. And, if we're lucky some of them will become regular patrons. They come with petty expectations, and they throw pretty words and things at you, and you reciprocate. This is the easy part. Everything is superficial. The illusion is willingly maintained. But, as time goes on they start to confide in you. You begin to understand them in a way that perhaps even their own wives or advisors cannot. It is only natural to become attached."

Hisana nodded her head as she listened to Ichisumi's canorous and measured voice. "What do you do? What is the appropriate reaction when your heart deceives you?"

"You must weigh your losses. If you have enough resolve to go on then ignore it—eventually the feelings will run their course. If you do not think you can continue, then it is only appropriate for you to end it, but you must be careful with this option, Hisana. Remember that when things go badly, the ties that bind you to your family and friends have the luxury of becoming knotted or lengthened, but the ties between lovers can only be severed."

Hisana's gaze trailed to the floor.

"Did you speak with your client about this?" Ichisumi asked, astutely reading Hisana's grimace.

"No. I was unsure of how to respond. I may have acted rashly."

Ichisumi's brows shot up at this. "How do you mean?"

"I have dropped him."

Ichisumi inhaled so deeply her nostrils flared. Lifting her head, she gazed down at Hisana. Her look was both penetrating and understanding. "I see. Perhaps you did behave rashly, but you are inexperienced in these matters," she said, breathing a heavy sigh.

Hisana dropped her head in shame. It  _was_  as bad as she thought. And if her mentor knew  _which_  client she had offended, it would have been worse. What had she done? She should have come to her mentor before acting. That would have been the prudent thing to do. At the time, however, she was so perturbed by it. Her actions were inexcusable as a courtesan when she was with him that morning. No, she was not behaving as a courtesan then—not in the slightest. She acted more like one of those empty-headed academy students from the slums—the kind that had no hope of advancing in terms of skill or prestige. She was like the very ones who wasted their efforts in the pursuit of frivolity and illicit dalliances. Except that she  _wasn't_  one of those academy students who littered the walkways of the city. What she did was far worse. She failed to perform her job. She let her needs and wants blind her. She allowed herself to fall prey to the allure of the moment.

'How could I? I need this. If I don't have some means to obtain money, how else will I be able to fulfill my obligations? I have so many of them now. I have so many trifling obligations that get in the way of me balancing my  _real_  duty. How can I do this? It is a dead-end.'

"Hisana, don't beat yourself up about this," Ichisumi's cool collected voice was successful in breaking through her haze of self-loathing. Gently, Ichisumi rested her hand on Hisana's hand. "We all make mistakes. You made the right decision to end the relationship. You'd be as useless as Shuko is now if you hadn't. In time you will learn the art of allowing someone his pride as you end the service."

' _In time_ ,' Hisana's thoughts lingered on the expression. She was never going to free herself from this. Never—not in a million years—would she manage to extricate herself from this life. The longer she was there the more debt she accumulated. And, the debt was never congruent with reality—there were interest and  _incidental_  fees. It was all a huge scam to keep the women in their place. The Houses had their cash cows, and they weren't opening the gates except under penalty of death. Hisana's arrears would continue to expand for the rest of her life, and no amount of skill, talent, and clients could cure her from it.

'Even if I found her, what then?' The unspeakable thought reared its ugly head. She had tried to suppress it—placate it—for as long as possible.

'How could I be so stupid? To think I actually believed I could make everything right. I  _am_  a fool!'

Ichisumi stood, and tugging on Hisana's hand she managed to catch her protégé's attention. "You look so tired, Hisana. Come now. Come up," she chirped, trying her best to sound ebullient.

Hisana complied and took to her feet. "Thank you, Big Sister." She bowed her head deferentially. "I apologize for my intrusion."

Ichisumi shook her head. "No, no need for apologies. I've been campaigning for a class on this very thing, but to no avail. Go get some rest, and concentrate on healing those wounds of yours. What did Dr. Nur say about those?"

Hisana met Ichisumi's gaze, and she politely answered, "I should be back to normal by tomorrow at the latest."

Ichisumi smiled. "Well, then you need to rest until you are fully restored. Okay?"

Hisana nodded her head. "Yes, Big Sister," she said moving to the door. Gracefully, she bowed her goodbye. "Thank you again, Big Sister."

Days passed and there was no sign of Byakuya Kuchiki. Even as his haori and scarf lingered in her closet, he did not send attendant or word for his possessions, and Hisana lacked the courage to deliver the items herself. Instead, they lingered with her. Every time she opened her closet there they were – solemn reminders of  _him_  and her past indiscretions.

'It is foolish to be haunted by  _garments_ ,' she thought to herself one miserably hot summer day.

Pondering her situation, she suddenly remembered her loose connection to Byakuya Kuchiki, Mr. Watanabe. Watanabe was the man who recommended her services to the nameless Kuchiki clansman. He would be able to safely return the garments to their rightful owner.

'Why hadn't I thought of it before?' Hisana wondered, closing the closet door behind her. She paused for a moment to consider her reflection, but stopped before realization had a chance to sink in. 'I'll see Mr. Watanabe tonight. We're on familiar enough terms that he won't be offended by a mention of another client. He is, after all, the root cause of my trouble with that  _Kuchiki_.'

For Hisana, however, theory was far easier than application.

When nightfall came, Hisana found her situation with the nobleman more complicated than she initially thought.

"You don't seem yourself, Hisana," Mr. Watanabe murmured in his soft voice. He watched her with a piercing stare as he lied on his side; he kept his head propped up with his left hand.

Sitting ramrod straight, she forced a smile. "How can that be?" she countered, batting her eyes coyly. "I can't be anything but myself."

He shook his head wryly. "You look uncomfortable," he digressed.

She lowered her gaze to the tatami mat and smiled to herself. 'I feel uncomfortable,' she thought, feeling the pangs of the overtired muscles in her back.

"Is there something wrong?"

'Oh, great! Now, you've made your client uneasy,' she castigated herself.

Hisana breathed a sigh, and gave an imperceptible shake of her head. "What makes you think that?" she tried again; this time her voice went up two octaves as she attempted to pour on the charm. She was going for "coquettish" but upon hearing herself she was certain she had nailed "saccharine" instead…

Mr. Watanabe shot her an easy smile. "Well, you're sitting more than a foot away, and I haven't seen someone sit that straight since my academy days when Captain-Commander Yamamoto would enter a room."

She smiled genuinely at that. The thought of Yamamoto putting the fear of Hell into a bunch of testosterone-filled boys amused her greatly. Then, again, the way Mr. Watanabe described it only added to the mental image.

When her eyes flitted up to meet his countenance, she found him beaming at her. His expression clearly read: 'There's the girl I know.' Shyly, she averted her gaze back to the floor.

"Well, I suppose it is only fair for me to hear what is bothering you since you've had to endure my bitching for so long," he concluded, sitting up as he spoke.

Hisana shook her head. "That is unnecessary."

Seated slumped into himself, Mr. Watanabe shook his head, not content with her response. "Reciprocity goes a long way in a therapeutic relationship."

Her head bobbed up at the implication that they had suddenly entered into a "therapeutic relationship". She had never considered the designation, and the thought of her as a counselor struck her as intensely odd. Yet, she supposed that it was only natural that over time the courtesan-client dyad would eventually dissolve into such a state. Sex could only go so far if one wanted to keep a man's patronage, after all. Most of the men who could afford a courtesan could certainly obtain sex for free if they wished. A captive audience, Hisana mused, was probably what they yearned for subconsciously. A wife—a noble wife, that is—would be an equal, or as equal as a woman could hope to be in the world dominated by such powerful men—was not suitable for such means. From what Hisana understood, most nobles married out of obligation, not for companionship. Between obligation, duty, and occupation, she supposed many of the noblemen had no one to  _listen_  to them.

"You look shocked." Mr. Watanabe chuckled.

Hisana shook her head vigorously. "No, not shocked," she giggled, and lightly thumped him with her fan. "I just never put much thought into it."

"You're  _usually_  a very  _good therapist_ ," he chided. Stretching forward, he grasped her hand and brought it up to his lips.

Before he had a chance to kiss her, she slipped her hand from his and cupped his cheek. The hard prickles of stubble scratched against her palm as she brushed the side of his face. "What do you mean  _usually_?" she teased, tenderly tracing the scar running down from his hairline to his chin.

A lopsided grin thinned his lips. "Maybe I should try playing therapist for the time being."

Hisana's brows lifted and knitted together. She wanted to tell him that the role reversal was wrong, but despite the words dancing on her tongue she kept silent.

"Tell me what troubles my dear Hisana?"

Her shy grin broadened at his playful tone. "Nothing. I was just thinking…"

"Ah, thinking is where it often goes wrong," he said, stroking his chin meaningfully.

She giggled and shook her head. "Why did you recommend my services to the Kuchikis?"

His thick brown eyebrows lifted. "And thinking about the Kuchiki family is always bad for one's mental health," he joked.

She merely rolled her eyes at his diversion.

"Oh, come now, Hisana. You can't be perturbed over Byakuya Kuchiki."

She wanted to believe him on that point. But, as much as she tried she had never been able to convince herself of that.

"Don't be offended by his behavior. He's a prick to everyone. I should know! I was one of his tutors when he was younger."

Hisana's eyes widened, and her gaze held his. Searching his visage, she was certain he was speaking the truth. With an impish grin she murmured a soft, "Poor you."

He chuckled at her candor. "Indeed. That kid was a beast. He was probably  _born_  with more spiritual pressure than I could ever hope to attain, and he was the biggest brat this side of Soul Society."

She laughed. Hard. "Really?"

"I remember his family was always embarrassed by his reckless, hotheaded behavior."

"Hotheaded?" Hisana echoed, not quite sure they were speaking about the same person. The Byakuya Kuchiki that she knew was colder than ice.

"Don't look so surprised. He's still a hothead. He just tries to hide it more since he's taken control of the clan. He still goes off half-cocked and does whatever the hell he wants to do _when_ he wants to do it. I mean, just the other day, for instance. He just up and brings in this slum kid, treats her wounds, feeds her, and then hands her off to one of his servants. Why does he do this? Who the hell knows? He just does these things that never make any sense."

"What?" Hisana's brows lowered over dark and narrow eyes. A burst of adrenaline or horror—she was not sure which—threaded its way through her circulatory system causing her heart to speed in beat and her inner temperature to plummet. Leaning forward with an intense look etched into her features, she repeated herself, "What did you say about the slum kid?"

Intrigued by the sudden change in his companion, Mr. Watanabe's brows shot up and a gallant smile brightened his face. "From what I was told by a very angry Kuchiki family member, Lord Kuchiki just waltzes in with this Rukongai kid. He pays to treat her wounds, clothes her, and then hands her off to one of his staff to remain in Seireitei. It doesn't make an ounce of sense. Ostensibly, he has remained very tightlipped on  _why_  the sudden noblesse oblige."

Hisana pursed her lips and tightened her jaw.  _She_  had a sinking feeling that she knew why Byakuya had taken the girl in. She was almost sure she knew  _who_  it was he secured. And, she felt positively  _wretched_  about the entire thing. Had he done it  _before_  their tête-à-tête or after to spite her?

'I have to find out,' she thought with great resolve. She glanced back over her should in the direction of her private quarters. 'I'll return those garments  _myself_  and  _insist_  that I see him. Tonight!'

Reading her determination, Mr. Watanabe scrutinized her with a heavy stare. "If I didn't know better I'd think you're not terribly shocked by this."

Hisana mustered a small smile. "I can't say that I am. If your description of Lord Kuchiki is to be believed, he seems just that impulsive."

Heavy was the darkness and thick was the fog that greeted Hisana when she ventured out of her room. It was late when she finished her last service, but she had made a promise to herself. A promise she intended to keep.

Clutching the priceless bundle of fabric close to her chest, she wandered the winding streets of Seireitei in the direction of the infamous Kuchiki estate. She had procured her freedom to leave the Pleasure Quarters for this task, having approved it with the House, and neither Hell nor Heaven would stop her from returning those damnable items.

The estate was set in the very deepest corner of Soul Society. It was vast and thus it took her a great deal of time to reach at a brisk walk. She was not of a mind to rush  _this_. With every step, she reveled in the visceral feeling of adrenaline pumping through her system.

With every step, she was inching just that much closer to the truth behind Mr. Watanabe's words.

Why would he—Byakuya Kuchiki—do such a thing?

The question plagued her at every rebound of her foot. Her thoughts narrowed to all the possible answers. She was quick to reject the most obvious of solutions: That he did it for  _her_. Instead, her mind bent on concocting some elaborate and malicious reason behind his sudden act of kindness. Even as much as she desperately wanted to make him the villain, each menacing musing felt hollow.

'Why if not for me?' she wondered, nearing the Kuchiki grounds. Carefully, she packaged the thought up and filed it away, hoping that the vista would distract her from revisiting the musing.

And, indeed, even the dead of night through the heavy smoke of low hanging clouds she could still delight in the impeccably manicured grounds of the estate. It was truly beautiful, she thought grimly to herself.

It was not fair for one man to inherit such opulence due only to birth…

Reaching the entrance of the residence, Hisana politely announced her arrival with a small knock on the door. The Kuchiki attendants were extremely diligent and dutiful for before she had the chance to take a step back the door was already opened and a servant stood before her.

A bright rectangle of light pierced the darkness, falling over Hisana as she stood tightly holding his scarf and haori against her breast.

"State your purpose," the male servant muttered in a chastising voice.

"I am here to see Lord Kuchiki and return to him these items." She pulled the articles of clothing from her chest to allow the servant to inspect them.

Clearly perplexed by Hisana's presence, the servant looked on the garments with great disgust. "How is this possible?" he murmured to himself.

He then shook his head and regarded Hisana once more. This time his eyes were narrowed into slits and his lips drooped into a frown. "I suppose you have no existing appointment with the Lord?"

Hisana truthfully shook her head. "No."

"Well, I'll take these from you," he said, telegraphing his suspicion as to how she came into possession of such priceless materials.

Gingerly, Hisana handed the servant the delicate pieces. He took them with great caution and gently folded them over his arm. "As for your request to see Lord Kuchiki in the flesh, I'm afraid that cannot be granted without an appointment that has been approved by the Lord himself. Goodnight."

Hisana took a step forward. "But it is imperative that I -" she began hurriedly.

"I'm sorry. But the Lord has taken to bed, and even if he had not he has an existing request to be left in solitude unless otherwise noted. Goodnight to you, I say. Goodnight!"

Just before Hisana launched another imploring round of statements, both she and the servant were stopped cold by a familiar voice.

"Let her inside, Hidetada."

"Master!" the servant gaped, turning to his right to find Byakuya standing only a mere yard away from him. Unwittingly, the servant slid the door open wider to allow Hisana to glimpse the young Kuchiki Lord.

Her heart stopped dead the moment she saw him. He looked so different to her eyes then. Gone was his noble raiment. His hair went unfettered by his headpiece. He wore no elaborate haori displaying his status. Not even a kamon decorated his rather simple and ordinary looking green kimono.

He looked almost  _pedestrian_ , and for some strange and illogical reason Hisana found that incredibly provocative.

"As you wish, milord," the servant said, bowing low as he opened the passage for Hisana.

Crossing the threshold, Hisana bowed low on meeting Byakuya's gaze. "Good evening, Lord Kuchiki," she greeted in a breathless tone.

"I'm sure you're here to discuss more than just the weather," Byakuya noted drily as he addressed her. "Hidetada," he said, regarding the servant with a bored look, "you are dismissed."

"Yes, milord." The servant groveled for a moment before shuffling down the corridor. For a few pained moments, both Byakuya and Hisana watched as the man disappeared around the bend.

Sure that he was far from earshot, Byakuya turned on his heels. "Do you have something to say or did you come to waste my time?"

Hisana gave a small gasp at his directness. Glancing back to find him giving her a sidelong stare, she lowered her head and blushed. "I'm sorry for tarrying. I merely came to ask you about something I had heard."

His gaze hardened. It was obvious (to Hisana anyway) that he had already ascertained her reason for coming. And, it did not seem that he was overly enthused by her presence.

"I wanted to know about the girl you took in."

He lifted his head and turned to face an adjacent corridor. Without so much as a word, he moved toward the hallway. "Are you coming?" he asked in a solemn tone.

Hisana quickly picked up the pace and trailed behind him. She wondered where it was he was leading her, but her tongue refused to air the question. Given the tense silence between them, she decided the most prudent avenue was to keep her mouth shut.

Keeping her eyes trained on the hardwood floors beneath her feet, Hisana did not spare her surroundings a second glance. If asked, she doubted that she would be able to find her way back to the entrance, but something compelled her to keep to herself. It felt wrong to gaze upon the walls and doors. She felt as if she was intruding enough as it was—prying eyes would only make her feel worse.

Byakuya stopped at a small nondescript door. Gently, he slid the shoji door back to reveal a small room. Centered on the floor was a futon, and resting on the bed was a small bundle. Hisana glanced up at him. Her eyes begging the questions her mouth dare not utter.

'This cannot be!' her thoughts kept repeating inside her head.

He nodded his head in the direction of the sleeping bundle, and, wordlessly, Hisana obliged. Soft measured steps guided her into the room. Before she knew it, she was kneeling beside the futon. A small familiar face peeked out from the heavy blankets, and Hisana smiled wide in recognition.

"Fuu!" she whispered, gently brushing hair from the small girl's forehead.

At the sound of her name, Fuu gazed up. Hisana could tell the girl's vision was clouded by a dense mental fog.

Fuuu smiled lazily and blinked her eyes again to clear them of sleep. "Miss Hisana, is that you?" she whispered in her little voice.

Hisana nodded her head. "Yes."

"Really?"

"Yes, Fuu, it is I."

The girl's small smile immediately widened. "I thought it was," she said dreamily.

"Go back to sleep." Hisana leaned down and tenderly kissed Fuu on the head. "You need your rest."

The young girl nodded her head. It was not long before heavy eyelids slid closed, and she was back to sleep.

Hisana lingered by Fuu's side for what felt like hours. Carefully, she watched the young girl. Her hand tightly wrapped around Fuu's small wrist. Feeling Byakuya's presence tug at the strings of her awareness, Hisana bent down and kissed Fuu on the forehead one last time before standing and moving to the doorway.

Reaching Byakuya, Hisana halted and glanced up at him. He met her gaze with an even look and shut the door behind them. The moment he moved forward, however, he took pause at the question launched in his direction.

"Why?" Hisana found the courage to ask.

He stopped mid-step, and lowered his head as he considered his response.

"Was it because of me? Is that why you looked so frazzled that morning when you came to my room?"

"Don't be foolish," he hissed defensively.

"What does that mean?" she fired back. Her hands quickly curled into fists at his response. "Why else would you have done what you did? And what about Mai? Why did you pick Fuu?"

He turned to glance over his shoulder at her. Even through the thick shade, she could see the sharp glint in his eye betokening his disgust with her barrage of questions. Feeling a fire igniting in her stomach, Hisana neared him in that darkened corridor. Her hands remained balled into fists, and her eyes mirrored his intensity.

"I did not do anything for you," he snapped, finding her eyes through the shadows.

"Really? Then, why else did you take her? And you haven't answered my last question."

Without another word, Byakuya briskly began his way down the hall. Hisana was hot on his trail, and the silence between them felt even more repugnant than the words that had been exchanged.

A sharp crackle of wood filled the corridor as Byakuya threw a random door back and pulled her into a blackened room. "Your arrogance is astounding," he hissed, raising his voice as he shut the door behind them.

Hisana stood only a few inches away. Her arms firmly folded against her chest, and her hands clenched the tops of her arms. "My arrogance?" she said in disbelief. "Do you even hear yourself?"

"I did not do this for you," he stated in an even tone.

She narrowed her eyes skeptically. "Then, why did you take Fuu?"

He did not respond. Instead he averted his gaze to a nearby wall, and glowered. He was clearly perturbed by the fact that she had the nerve to question his motives so thoroughly. It was impropriety of the first water, and he was not used to being made accountable for his actions. He was certainly not used to having his authority questioned at every turn. And, who was  _she_ , exactly, to command answers from  _him_?

"And don't give me that 'I had all but forgotten about your very existence' bit either!" Hisana growled. "That would be a lie."

His gaze turned deathly at that. "Who are you to know anything of me and my intentions?"

"Why do you deny that you saved her because of me?" she snapped back.

His eyes narrowed her impudence. "That is absurd. You are absurd."

"I'm the one who was absurd? What about Mai? Why did you choose Fuu over a dying girl?"

"Mai was dead," he said firmly.

Hisana's eyes widened and her breath caught in her chest. For a moment, she felt temporarily disoriented, and her equilibrium faltered. She had just assumed when she heard about him taking in a girl that it had been Mai. When it turned out that he had rescued Fuuu instead, she was too shocked to think it through logically.

Bracing Hisana by the shoulders, Byakuya looked down into her face to see that she was still unsettled by the news. She appeared distant and lost in thought. Her large blue eyes lowered to the tatami, and her chin quivered at the realization.

Trembling, she broke away from him and tightly hugged herself, hoping that her shaking would go unnoticed. "I didn't know," were the only words she could find to utter. "Thank you," was the next expression that came as she glanced over her shoulder to find him staring remotely into the dark landscape of night through an open door leading to a garden.

"I should have been thanking you for your kindness instead of interrogating you like some bratty child," she murmured softly. "I guess I was just angry."

"Angry?" he echoed. Silently, his gaze lingered on her lithe form; the fabric of her yukata shimmered in the moonlight, making it hard to ignore her presence.

"I should have been the one to do something. Instead, I just left as I always do. I  _left_  a dying girl. How heartless."

He remained quiet.

"And then you never told me. Not that you were obligated to, but…" Glancing over her shoulder, she dropped her eye-line to the wall just slightly past Byakuya. It was just too hard to look at him then.

"I intended to tell you," he muttered in a low voice, "that morning."

Hisana gave a light snort at the thought. "Why did you do it?" she asked. Their eyes locked across the room, and she bowed her head. "You didn't have to."

He appeared reticent to answer her at first. But, as her stare deepened, his lips instinctively parted. His gaze broke from hers and trailed to the floor. "I was always taught that bearing witness to evil and doing nothing in the face of it was the same as perpetrating the crime."

Hisana gave a somber smile. "Noblesse oblige," she murmured to herself. How could she have been wrong on so many accounts? Shaking her head at her unbridled arrogance, she hung her head in shame.

'I was so foolish…'

"What will happen to Fuu?" she asked softly.

"She has been taken in by one of my attendants. When she is older she can choose to join the Academy or serve my House."

Hisana nodded her head. "I apologize for my impertinence," she said, bowing low. "I believe it would be best if I left with what little pride that I still retain after this."

He watched her intently. His gaze almost willing her to stay a moment longer, but he said not a word. He merely stood aside as she moved to the door.

"Thank you for your hospitality toward Fuu," she said in a low whisper.

Byakuya lowered his head and gaze as she bid him goodbye. His face remained stony, and his gaze piercing as he fixed his sights on the mat.

Pausing short of his position on the floor, Hisana observed his visage. His usually stoic façade appeared doleful in the moonlight. Even at the downward angle, there was something off about Byakuya Kuchiki. His usual arrogant and prideful demeanor seemed severely muted as she observed him.

She wondered if it was just her mood or the lighting or perhaps he truly was at a loss for words. Perhaps she was waiting for him to launch a biting remark her way given her poor behavior. She deserved it, after all.

Compelled by the strangest compulsion, she drew close and gave him a tender kiss on the cheek. "Thank you," she whispered against his ear.

Reactively, he grasped hold of her shoulders and stayed her. He looked mortified by the impulse—as if he was not quite sure what he was doing or what to do next. The normally in-control and precise Byakuya Kuchiki looked as nervous as a callow schoolchild.

Hisana smiled and tilted her head to the side.  Encouragingly, she reached up and tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear.

Tentatively, he leaned down and kissed her.

He was really rather inexperienced when it came to interpersonal communication—verbal or otherwise—Hisana mused as she deepened the kiss.

The passion from their first encounter manifested in a more subdued ilk. Gone was the frenzy of hands and mouths and the wanton desire. It was calmer, gentler, and less rushed.

She could tell he was over-thinking it. He wasn't quite sure what she wanted. He fumbled with her robes, and he was guarded at times and hesitant at others. His uncertainty had the unfortunate effect of bleeding onto Hisana, who was not used to having so much attention paid to her needs when it came to sex. Usually, the men did what they wished, and her mind drifted to other thoughts of better places; it was just a job; nothing more, nothing less.

But, right then and right there she couldn't imagine being anywhere else.

 


	5. Stage Five: Commitment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Kuchiki Clan screen potential wives for Byakuya as soon as they discover his relationship with Hisana.

**Stage Five: Commitment**

"It appears Lord Byakuya Kuchiki has discovered fucking. What can I say?" Hidetada murmured in a hushed voice as he escorted Lord Matsumura, a wizened Kuchiki elder and the great uncle to Byakuya, down a corridor.

"Do you really think it is serious?" the elder asked, tilting his head toward the servant to ensure their privacy.

Hidetada gave a casual shrug of his shoulders. "It is hard to say."

"If it's just a stage, I say let the boy have fun."

Hidetada's brows shot up at the unspoken sentiments begging to be asked: "If it isn't  _just a stage_?"

The servant's pragmatism struck a cacophonic chord with the Kuchiki elder; his expression soured, and his top lip curled in repulsion. "Let us not consider the implications of such a circumstance, shall we? There are many fine girls— girls with  _breeding_ —that Byakuya will take to should he extricate himself long enough from his obligations to notice."

Silence hung like a heavy wet blanket over the pair as they continued down the passageway. Both men were thoughtfully pondering the possibility that their precious Lord had fallen for a street-rat-cum-courtesan. It was clear to them that the appropriate steps would have to be taken and _soon_ if the young leader had indeed fallen in with bad company. Lord Matsumura, especially, was not thrilled at the prospect of Byakuya snubbing suitable females out of some strangely felt attachment to this courtesan.

Breathing a deep sigh, Matsumura gave the servant a furtive sidelong glance as they neared the drawing room. "Do you know much of this  _Hisana_?" His voice dropped two octaves when he spoke her name as if it left a bad taste in his mouth.

Hidetada perked at the question. A small half-smile thinned the servant's lips. He shook his head. "She's from the Seventy-Eighth Rukon District. She is also searching for a lost family member. A sister, mayhap?" The question was obviously directed to himself for Hidetada's eyes rolled up to the ceiling, and he began stroking his neatly groomed goatee as he attempted to recall the details.

Matsumura handed the servant a monetary token for his troubles. "Hidetada, please, do not hesitate in keeping me abreast of any unfavorable  _developments._ "

Hidetada plucked the coin from the elder, and, with a flick of his wrist, he concealed his gain in a secret compartment of his robes. "Of course, Lord Matsumura. I will notify you with any  _interesting_  updates."

Matsumura acknowledged the servant's pact with a sly nod of his head. "I hope she is nothing more than a good  _fuck_ as you suggested," the old man said before slipping into the drawing room for the monthly Family meeting.

Hidetada bowed low and held the position until Lord Matsumura had disappeared behind the shoji door. Inhaling a deep breath, the servant straightened his posture, turned on his heel, and went to fetch the Lord of the manor.

Byakuya Kuchiki was tucked in his writing room at the back of the house, when Hidetada arrived. Kneeling in front of the door, the servant tapped the wooden frame with his knuckles. "Master," he murmured in a quiet voice.

"Yes," Byakuya called from his desk.

Hidetada gently drew the door back, and bowed deeply on the floor. "The members have assembled; they are awaiting your arrival."

Byakuya gave the servant a passing glance, and nodded his head. "Very well," he said, and, with quiet resignation, he placed his brush down with a crisp "thunk."

Once Byakuya was firmly on the other side of the room, Hidetada slid the door closed and scurried to get to his feet and trail after his master. It took him a few moments to match Byakuya's long strides, but, as he did, he was quick to gain the attention of his Lord.

"What did Matsumura say?" Byakuya's voice was clipped and even.

Hidetada quirked a brow at his master's perceptiveness. "He questioned me regarding your interests in potential ladies at court." The servant's eyes remained faithfully trained on Byakuya's face. He observed the muscles in his master's jaws clench at the mention of court ladies and the allusion of marriage.

"Was that all?" Byakuya said; his voice betraying his inner disgust at the old man's prying.

"He appeared particularly interested in the relationship you have with a certain courtesan."

Byakuya's cadence slowed at the mention of his relationship with Hisana. His posture, if possible, became straighter, and his eyes reflexively narrowed at the perceived breech of privacy. "What did you tell him?"

"That it was of little consequence." That response garnered a stern look from Byakuya. Hidetada was unsure if it was an expression of displeasure or boredom. If he was a betting man, however, he would have banked his yearly salary on the former.

"Very well," Byakuya stated in his patented deadpan.

So it began, he thought ruefully to himself.

It was only a matter of time before their relationship was scrutinized by the intrusive eyes of his family. Nothing occurred in the House of Kuchiki without the approval of a committee. And, apparently, his family was campaigning harder than ever for him to take a bride and procreate for the sake of the lineage.

It was his duty.

And, marriage was the only obstacle between him and his goal of assuming the responsibilities of the Sixth Division. He would need a wife and heir before the family would feel comfortable with him taking any post in the Gotei 13 proper.

Wordlessly, he entered the dimly lit drawing room.

. . . .

It was late. It was so late, in fact, the night was quickly bleeding into the next day. It was a precarious position—those hours between days. The dark sky slowly lightened with each passing "tick" of the clock.

The "between" hours were when she came. She visited him intermittently. At times, he saw her every night; other times he was lucky to see her at all. And, she always came in the same familiar way. She would cross through the garden to his private quarters, and she would lightly tap three times at his door.

And, every time he received her.

Some nights, they indulged their baser instincts. Some nights, they sat quietly together; he at his desk working on whatever needed his attention at the time, and she lightly strumming his late mother's weathered shamisen. She listened to his drafts when he needed careful inspection, and he watched her dance to the sounds of water lapping against the rocks in the garden outside.

Their relationship was a calm one. There was little in the way of obligations or expectations. They simply  _were_ —existing as separate entities that occasionally crossed paths and shared with the other. But, Byakuya was growing uneasy with their loose arrangement. He was quick to grow accustomed to her presence when her visits were frequent, and he easily became unsettled by her long absences.

It was always when he was nearing the point of finding her nonappearance unbearable that she returned like some sadistic nightingale.

This was one of those nights.

Missing her companionship, Byakuya found it increasingly hard to concentrate on the forms needing filled. He had to write an opinion on a ruling handed down by the Central Chambers as it regarded the Thirteenth Division. He was always trying to find appeals methods and remedies for whatever infraction went down at the Thirteenth it seemed. It was his job, after all, to be a liaison between the Central 46 Chambers and the Gotei 13. It was mostly for historical purposes as his family kept after Soul Society's archives, but he always seemed to find himself filing appeals on behalf of the Thirteenth Division. He attributed the increase in workload to the Thirteenth's Vice Captain, Kaien Shiba. Detestable as Shiba was in Byakuya's opinion, the noble did seem to share Captain Ukitake's bleeding heart brand of right-and-wrong.

Byakuya shook his head at the mere thought of Kaien. He knew it was getting late when all he could do was distract himself from thinking about the ins-and-outs of the Thirteenth. Plopping down his writing brush, he inhaled a deep breath and closed his eyes. The fresh scent of ink and dusty paper perfumed the humid air. It was the aroma of  _work_.

Reluctantly, he opened his eyes and glanced over to the door leading out to the garden. For a few rather lengthened moments, his gaze stayed on that door. It was slightly ajar—enough so that he could catch the moonbeams as they danced on the choppy water of the diverted river that flowed through his private garden.

'It must be windy,' he thought to himself as he observed the waves. 'I hope it does not rain,' he mused. His mind tiredly remembered an old myth that he had learned when he was much younger. 'Doesn't rain separate lovers?'

His eyes widened at the latter thought—more specifically the last word of the latter thought: _Lovers_. His brows knit together as the word carved itself into his mind's eye. Wearily, he shook his head and pushed the thought aside for the time being. It was far too late for him to be playing word games with himself.

Yet, his gaze remained glued to the door. Upon feeling the chill of a cool breeze playfully ghost across his face, his lips thinned into a small half-hearted smile. Instinctively, he stood and moved to the door, pulling it back before she had the chance to reach it.

Still moving up the stairs to the room, Hisana glanced up the moment the small rectangle of light radiating from the door widened. She offered him a warm albeit weary smile and bowed. "You were expecting me?" she teased, gliding across the threshold.

As she moved into his room, Byakuya caught the unmistakable odor of Rukongai when she passed. She had been wandering the streets looking for her missing sister again. And, judging by the downcast look in her eyes, he could tell her search had been fruitless.

Without uttering a word, he neared her and slowly began helping her out of her haori. "Are you not uncomfortable in this heat?" he asked, draping the garment over his arm.

She glanced up at him, and shook her head. "I suppose I haven't been feeling myself lately."

He leaned down and gently brushed his lips against her forehead. She felt a little warm to the touch, but it did not seem to be any great cause for concern. She had, after all, been hoofing it across Soul Society on a sticky summer night.

"I feel fine," she assured him, having astutely read his motives for the kiss.

He hastily folded her haori and set it on the desk. Just before he had the chance to turn, he felt the unmistakable pressure two arms made as they wrapped themselves around his abdomen. He paused, a little apprehensive of the closeness. He doubted he would ever grow accustomed to being casually touched much less embraced. But, he did not pull away even though every fiber in his body stiffened at the feeling of her body pressed firmly against his back.

There was no expectation of sex—no promise of sensuality—with that hug. It was an inscrutable act to his mind. He was sure it meant to be comforting, and he stayed, hoping that for her sake it was.

"I'm sorry," she murmured into the soft fabric of his kimono.

And, he wondered, briefly, what exactly it was she was apologizing for. Assuming it was for the embrace, he rested his hands against her arms, and bowed his head.

"I'm not normally this clingy," she said to herself.

He turned to offer her an obliging glance.

She looked up into his softened features and smiled.

Observing her—scrutinizing every line and contour of her countenance—Byakuya felt his brows furrow and his eyes narrow. Confusion was not an expression his features naturally assumed, but he had a sinking feeling that she was hiding something under that smile.

Was there something wrong? Reflexively, he shook his head at the thought. Of course, there was something wrong with their current arrangement! Even he felt the strain. But, he just assumed that it was an unrequited feeling. And, he wondered how much longer she would haunt his manor in those late hours.

She reluctantly peeled her body from his and wandered over to the garden door. Her hands steady and calm as she pulled it back to reveal the nightscape. "It is so nice tonight," she said wistfully; her voice hung so low in that thick air that he had to strain to hear her words over the dull roar of the river.

"Are you hungry?" he said, watching her intensely. She appeared gaunt since the last time he saw her.

Folding her arms against her chest, Hisana merely shook her head. "I am fine."

He frowned at the expression. She employed it so often and with so little thought that he was beginning to wonder if it was her defense mechanism. She had been roaming the winding streets of the Rukon Districts before returning to Seireitei. That act in itself required some expenditure of reiatsu; she  _had_  to be famished.

"I am," he murmured loud enough for her to hear.

Hisana glanced over her shoulder and met his gaze. 'Just as piercing as ever,' she mused, tilting her head to the side as she stared into those steely eyes.

"It is late," she responded. Calling the servants with her there would not be very prudent, she reasoned. "I could leave."

He shook his head. "We could go out."

Her jaw slackened at the suggestion. Her mind immediately pulled in two directions at once. Her logical self rationalized that it was too late—all restaurants and vendors would be closed at that hour. Her more emotive inner voice, however, nearly had a conniption at the idea of the two of them being seen anywhere besides the Peony House. It would be too risky. They were supposed to keep a low profile, considering his status and his family's expectations. Gallivanting around Seireitei would certainly raise more than just a few eyebrows and cause much stress for him in the long run.

"It is late," she repeated after the pregnant pause. "Everything is closed."

A knowing lopsided grin thinned a corner of his lips. "Not  _everything_."

She turned to a three-quarters position. A well-tweezed brow perked, and she smirked at his response. "Even so," she began evenly, "there would be consequences for you."

He shut his eyes and sighed. "No."

Hisana took a step in his direction. Her lips parted and her eyes widened, giving her visage a look of pure horror. "Whatever do you mean?"

Byakuya's eyes lowered to the floor. The warmth in his face melted into an expression of calm repose as he considered his response. "They know."

She was the first to flinch. Unsure of what to say, she just blinked back her shock. "But we were so careful." Her countenance darkened as a wave of contrition for their actions took over. She shook her head. "What is going to happen?"

He lifted his head and eye-line to see her look of dejection. "Nothing."

Her eyes flitted up to meet his. "What?"

He shook his head reassuringly. "Nothing is going to happen. So, come with me." He extended his hand and nodded for her to take it.

Hisana obliged, giving a shallow bow as she did so. "Where are we going this late at night?"

He looked askance; his brows quirked upwards at the wavering sound of her voice. "You'll see," he said, turning his gaze straight ahead.

Hisana could have kicked herself for her thoughtlessness. It was  _so_  obvious after all. Why she hadn't been able to figure out where it was they were going was a testament to her weariness. (Or so she would like to have thought.)

'Of course he would bring me here. Some place where he would have absolute control over everything,' she mused, shaking her head at her lack of insightfulness as the two entered one of the Kuchiki owned and managed restaurants.

It was lovely, but that was to be expected, Hisana thought to herself as the two moved further inside. She had never dined there even despite her years as a courtesan, but she had heard it was expertly run and decorated. The rumors did not disappoint.

The staff was in the process of cleaning, she observed. The lights dimmed low, and the main entrance locked tight. Byakuya had led her to a side entrance.

His very presence set the employees into a wild frenzy. No longer was their duty to close shop; it was to serve and please their benefactor.

Hisana had never heard so many "Lord Kuchikis" and so much groveling in her entire life: "Yes, Lord Kuchiki." "Whatever you want, Lord Kuchiki!" "Whatever will please Lord Kuchiki will please us!"

She wasn't sure whether she wanted to laugh or cry at the sudden and glib outpouring of diffidence to a single soul. If they could have brownnosed anymore she was certain it would have counted as sexual harassment.

But, Byakuya seemed to pay the attention little heed as the two of them were seated in a cavernous banquette room. 'He's probably used to it,' Hisana thought to herself. She glimpsed him assuming a seat right beside her, and she smiled. The table was large and there were so many prying eyes, yet he did not hesitate in his decision.

Feeling her eyes on him, he turned and glanced down at the menu placed neatly in front of her.

Hisana quickly followed his gaze and blushed at her obliviousness. "Oh, yes," she murmured. Shakily, she plucked the sheet of paper from the lacquered wood, and she examined it. She could have died.

The items were all delicate and expensive. 'Of course it would have to be  _fine dining_ ,' she chastised herself. 'Why did I submit?'

She stared blankly down at the menu. Her heart fluttered, and her stomach felt like it had knotted into a bow inside her. Anxiety bathed her, penetrating every sinew and capillary in her body. She didn't know what to do. It was as if she had never eaten a proper dinner before in her life. And as she thought on it, she supposed she never had. At least, not in front of someone. At the dinners she had attended, she was usually acting as a courtesan so she did not eat very much, and the men  _always_  ordered for her. (She assumed most of them thought her illiterate given her class.)

Astutely reading her disquiet, Byakuya gently took her right hand, which was resting in her lap, and squeezed it.

Feeling the sudden warmth and pressure against her, she looked up from the page and forced a nervous smile. She wanted to say something. She wanted to tell him that all the items on the menu looked too enticing for her to pick from. She wanted to compliment him on the ambience and the attentiveness of the staff. But, no matter how hard she tried to clear her head long enough to form a cohesive thought, she could not. She was so unnerved, and she was not quite sure  _why_.

After filling both the water and tea containers, the female waitress flashed an easy smile and perked up. "May I take your orders, or do you require more time, Lord Kuchiki?"

He turned his head to acknowledge the bubbly waitress. "Kaiseki for both of us."

She beamed at the choice and bowed her head. "Excellent choice, Lord Kuchiki. You won't be disappointed." After giving another bow, the woman quickly padded out of the room.

"I hope you didn't mind…" Byakuya began but was quickly silenced by a shake of Hisana's head.

"No. I don't think I could have chosen an item from that menu." Once the words escaped her lips, she immediately cupped her mouth with regret. Her eyes widened, and her gaze flew over to him. As she expected, he sat looking rather aghast; his brows lifted to his hairline, and his eyes widened to the size of half dollars.

"Did you find it offensive?" he asked in a sheepish tenor.

Hisana began shaking her head before he even got the question out. "No. No. I didn't mean it  _that_  way." She glanced down at her sitting mat and grimaced. "Everything looked so enticing. I couldn't choose," she added, squeezing his hand.

When she finally teased what little nerve she could find out of her, she glanced up and smiled warmly as their eyes locked. "Thank you for bringing me here. Lord Kuchiki, you are very kind."

His jaws clenched at her words, and his gaze trailed to his lap. Searching for another topic, he quickly countered his diffidence: "I looked for your name today in the recruits log for the Spiritual Arts Academy." His voice lowered, and his breath was heavy as he spoke the words. He inclined his head to read her expression, and, for a brief moment, he felt unsure of his motives for revealing that fact. It just came out so naturally. "I could not find it."

Hisana merely smiled, and averted her gaze to the table. "I suppose you wouldn't have," she said cryptically.

"What do you mean?"

" _Hisana_ was not the name under which I enlisted." Her lugubrious smile brightened as she gazed into his face. "Hisana was the name I assumed once I arrived at the Peony House."

A look of recollection crossed his visage at her explanation. It was a silent, "Of course! How could I have overlooked that?"

She closed her eyes, and her smile faded. "The girl that enlisted in the Academy those many years ago no longer exists," she said somberly.

Byakuya's lips parted as he quietly observed her sorrow. His mind raced to find the right words to ease her sadness. But, try as he might, the words that came to him were slippery and hard to pin down into any coherent sentiment. All he could do was emote his apology, and hope that she could understand.

"Don't look so contrite," she said at length, "That was a long time ago. You couldn't have known. Let us digress."

He nodded his head approvingly.

Smiling wolfishly, Hisana gave him an almost predatory stare. "What is it Byakuya Kuchiki desires most?"

His brows lifted, and, for the second time that night, he appeared taken aback.

She laughed at his discomfiture. "Come now. It is only fair for you to divulge your main wish in life since you know mine."

"And so we are clear," Byakuya began, clearing his voice midway through, "what is Hisana's goal?"

She smiled brightly at his expense. "Isn't that obvious? To find my sister."

Byakuya inhaled a deep breath and held it in his chest until he could bear the cold sting of it no longer. "I see," he murmured to himself.

"Let me guess," she said, knowingly staving off the heavy silence that was lurking on the periphery, "you wish to become a captain of one of the thirteen squads?" She looked rather self-satisfied with her guess. A large grin split her lips, and her eyes radiated a playful gleam.

He paused to observe her. His head involuntarily tipped toward his right shoulder, and his lips parted. He was certain her guess was a coy attempt to lighten the mood; he doubted that she actually thought it was his goal, and he smirked at her sudden ebullience.

"I suppose I am rather transparent."

Hisana gaped at his answer. She appeared genuinely surprised; her eyes were open wide, her jaw slackened, and her breathing slowed. "I," she began, obviously trying to construct a lucid sentence in her head but failing. "I had no idea."

A small smile thinned his lips. Averting his gaze to the table, Byakuya gave a sheepish nod of his head.

She snorted a small giggle, and glanced up to the ceiling. "Why don't you?" she asked. She observed him with a gentle gaze as if she regarded him and his desires with the utmost sincerity.

He stared into the middle distance as he considered her question. It was simple—deceptively so. And his reasons were muddled and illogical in the most intimate of ways as these things often were. He shook his head before glimpsing her from the corner of his eye. "Duty."

She tilted her head to the side, and, silently, she implored him to expound further. When he did not, she tightened her grip on his hand.

"I have certain duties to perform in a particular sequence before I can assume military responsibilities."

She nodded her head, having a good idea which "duties" needed performing before he could attain his goal. "You need a wife and scion?"

The upward inflection gave her response the guise of being a question, but it was really an observation. Byakuya, however, nodded his head in reply. "Yes."

She watched him intently. "Why don't you marry?"

His whole body straightened and tensed at the thought. It was as if Hisana had poured a bucket of icy water over his head with that single question. He wasn't sure how, exactly, to answer her. He never had a compelling enough response even when his family grilled him on the matter. "I don't know," he finally admitted. His gaze instinctively lowered to meet hers.

He appeared conflicted—deeply at odds with his beliefs and feelings toward that specific obligation—and Hisana could feel it. His eyes were dark and troubled despite his otherwise stoic façade. And she could not help but wonder if her presence contributed to his turmoil over the matter. She was a distraction to his normal functioning as a noble—that much she was certain. Their illicit affair would have to end—she knew it, and she suspected that he was aware as well. They came from two very separate spheres of life, and nothing was going to bridge their two worlds together.

'So why are you here?' Hisana blinked in the face of the question. She did not have an answer, and she wonder if she ever would. This was not the sort of thing that made good, rational sense. If it had then she suspected that they would have never met in the first place. Bad logic and strange happenstance forced them together. Perhaps there was also a touch of animal magnetism underlying their relationship.

'Indeed… magnetism,' she thought dreamily to herself as she inclined her head until she was a hairsbreadth from his lips. She closed her eyes the moment she felt his breath skate across her face.

Feeling the warmth of his mouth against hers, Hisana reached up and placed her hands lightly against his shoulders to brace herself. Her breathing slowed the instant she felt his fingers threading in her hair.

Gently, he tipped her head back, and deepened the kiss. His mouth searching against hers; she merely followed his pace. Passively, she let him guide her; she let him take control.

A loud knock at the door, however, sent both spiraling back to reality. Quickly, they untangled themselves from each other in time to see the waitress peeking into the room from behind the door. "Dinner is served," she chirped, balancing an antique tray in her arms.

Byakuya, looking as guilty as Hisana felt, acknowledged the woman with a slight nod of his head.

"I know that  _usually_  these items are brought one by one, but it seemed that you desired your privacy, Lord Kuchiki. I did not thinking popping in every five seconds would be appropriate, so I brought the soup and dishes together. I hope I interpreted the situation to your liking, Lord Kuchiki."

Byakuya nodded, refusing to look very hard at the waitress.

"Good. Here you go. If you need anything don't hesitate to call on us," she said, placing the eight dishes down on the table.

Hisana hungrily took in every detail of the meal. There were two bowls of miso soup for the both of them. There were two separate fish dishes, two vegetable dishes, and two bowls of rice. The ingredients were perfectly matched for the season—freshly picked and harvested just for that particular moment.

And the  _smell_  was  _summery._

Hisana realized just how silly it was to think a dish could smell of summer, but it did. And it made her feel warm and at ease. So contented, in fact, that she could not help but close her eyes and breathe it all in—revel the moment. When she opened her eyes, she met an inquisitive-looking Byakuya. His eyes begged the question: "Is it to your liking?"

She flashed a broad closed-lipped smile. Her eyes twinkled in the soft lighting of the room. "It looks too good to eat."

He shyly averted his gaze back down to the table. "I should bring you here during the appropriate hours so you can truly enjoy the experience."

Hisana's smile diminished, and her gaze lowered. For some reason, those words carried a heavy weight; they sank in the air and struck a somber string in her heart. 'He can't do that,' she thought, finally ascertaining the reason _why_ she felt so down by the statement. 'It would be inappropriate… It is too private.'

She inhaled a deep breath. 'This is risky enough. What if the wait staff is composed of big-mouthed gossip-mongers?'

"Are you feeling well?" Byakuya asked, giving her a cursory glance.

Hisana nodded her head, and turned to meet his gaze. "Yes," she said meekly, "what would make you think…?"

Before she had the chance to finish the thought, Byakuya interrupted: "You look pale." He appeared sincere if not a touch worried.

She swallowed and turned her attention back to the bowls of food. Everything was so perfect. Even the containers were a marvel to behold—antiques that must have been handed down through many ages. 'So, why am I feeling so unnerved?' she wondered.

"I suppose I'm just not very hungry," she lied. She was  _very_  hungry. She had flash-stepped to Rukongai and back, and in the process she had expended a great deal of reiatsu—reiatsu that she had no hope of sating by the meager meals served at the Peony House. However, the gnawing at her stomach came second to the surge of guilt she felt at the thought of consuming the rich food.

"Eat," he commanded with his even and authoritarian voice.

She instinctively straightened her posture and reached for her chopsticks at the request. Balancing the thin black-lacquered utensils between her fingers, her gaze drifted between the rustic bowls of food. 'So many choices,' she thought nervously to herself.

Mindlessly, she started with the fish, savoring every bite. "It is good," she murmured softly

Byakuya eyed her with an almost imperceptible sidelong glance.

"The summer festival is drawing closer," she said in between mouthfuls of food.

He gave a measured nod of his head. "Yes. Will you be dancing?"

Hisana smiled into her bowl of rice. "Yes," she said, nodding.

He turned to observe her with a more scrutinizing gaze. He could not discern whether or not she was enthused by the event. She was a talented dancer, that much he could not deny, but for some strange reason he took umbrage at the mere thought of her displaying her talents in front of  _others_. It was absurd, he often reassured himself. She was a courtesan; she shared her  _talents_  with other men; it was her  _job_.

But when he was with her, he never entertained such thoughts. That is, until right then.

He wasn't sure he was comfortable regarding her in the context of her work. He, however, didn't know  _why_  it was beginning to bother him. It had started as this nettling musing in the back of his mind. Over time, the nettling gradually grew into a scratching in his brain; it continued to aggrandize until he could no longer neglect it, and all he was left with was a feeling of great unease. Illogical unease as it was.

Exhaling a deep breath, he quietly retraced the current conversation. "Good," was the only response that he could think of to say.

Hisana silently noted his disquiet, and their eyes locked. "Will you be attending?"

Before he could muster the answer, his head bobbed up and down. "Yes."

"Who will be your consort?" she asked coyly. Her eyes squinted up into a sly gaze, and her lips parted in a toothy grin.

Byakuya's face blanched. All the color drained from him, and his features tightened into a look of pained austerity. "I have not put much forethought into it."

She chuckled. "Don't look so embarrassed, Lord Kuchiki! Any woman would be ecstatic to have you for an escort."

His eyes flitted up to meet hers at the statement.

Hisana reached up and gently caressed the side of face. "Modest." She would have said more if her tongue could have wrapped itself around the words formed in her head. But alas! it was as hesitant as her heart.

"I could invite you."

Her cheeks reddened at the sentiment. "Lord Kuchiki," she began; her voice low and throaty as if she was imploring him to rescind the hypothetical offer.

He placed his hand on top of hers. His gaze unyielding—probing hers for sincerity. "But you'll be dancing."

She nodded. "And even if I were free, it would be wrong. I'd just be a distraction from your goal."

Her words stung him, and he instantly regretted ever confiding in her. His fingers closed tightly around her hand.

He appeared distant to her now. His gaze became removed and piercing as if he was not looking  _at_  her but  _through_  her. Lowering her head, Hisana searched for an easy save. But she had nothing. 'I suppose that is the problem,' she mused grimly to herself, 'I  _have nothing_.'

The rest of the dinner was taken in silence. A heavy sort of silence that squelched any hope for communication. Once they returned to his estate, the two fell into a familiar routine.

Morning came with sadistic certainty. Blinding rays of light shone down into the room, illuminating it in a fiery brilliance. And no matter how hard he tried to escape the burn of the sunrays, Byakuya had no choice but to submit.

Flinging his arm out to the side, he felt the cold tension of shock still every muscle in his body into place. "Hisana?" he murmured, unsure of whether or not he was still dreaming.

She was  _never_  by his side when he woke. She usually left before he drifted to sleep. On rare occasions when he did fall asleep before bidding her a proper farewell, she was long gone when he awoke.

But, there she was. Her eyes were firmly shut, and her breathing slow and quite. Unconsciously, Byakuya reached to touch her, fearing his eyes had betrayed him.

She stirred under his touch. Her eyes opened, and through hazy vision her gaze found his. "Lord Byakuya," she said in a meek voice.

His eyes widened at the form of address she had used. He was quite unaccustomed to her using the familiar. In truth, very few people he knew referred to him by his given name. But, the more his mind replayed her voice speaking his name, the more he liked it. It was perverse, he chastised himself.

Mindlessly, he drew closer to her. Their noses were only a hairsbreadth away—a tantalizing hairsbreadth away. Hisana beamed up at him.

She wore the tussled barely-there look well, he noted. Before he was certain of his next action, his lips twitched. "I could alleviate you of your debt."

She squinted her eyes, and blinked several times as if she were not sure she was conscious. "What?" she grumbled, incredulous of her own capacity for comprehension so freshly awake.

"Your debt at the Peony House."

She blinked once more, and then opened her eyes wide, hoping she could somehow shake off her grogginess. "You would purchase my debt?" she asked. She scrutinized his visage, wondering if his expression would darken had she indeed misunderstood the intent of his sentence.

"Yes."

"Why?"

He appeared nonplussed for a moment. "So, you can be free."

She wanted to jolt up into a seated position, but she couldn't. He was hovering over her. Instead of colliding into him like a fear stricken animal, Hisana reached up and cupped his face in her hands. Shaking her head, she smiled somberly at his offer. "And then?" she asked.

It was a reasonable question, he had to admit. Hisana was nothing if not pragmatic. If he freed her from the House, what  _would_  become of her? She had nothing to call her own. She would be homeless and forced back to the slums of Inuzuri. She would be in the same position that she had fled from those many years ago. And she would be in no shape to care for another even if she found her sister.

Ascertaining a solution, he said, "You could return to the Academy."

Hisana smiled gently at his response. "That was many years ago, dear Lord Kuchiki. I'm sure I am not a fit enough candidate for entry into the Spiritual Arts Academy."

He slightly shook his head. "You will be accepted. You have enough reiatsu, and I will see to it."

"You have done enough for me already, Lord Kuchiki. I could not ask this of you."

"There is no need to ask. I am offering."

"Then, I could not possibly take any more than I already have." Her hands trailed to his neck where her fingers tangled in his inky tresses.

"Consider it," he said in a commanding tone.

Hisana could only widen her smile. She was sure that he was not a man who was used to hearing the word, "No," but, at that moment, it was the only word carved into her mind. She wondered, however, how long it would take for her resolve to slowly atrophy. It was tempting, she could not deny. She would finally be free to pursue a life she could  _build_  for herself and her sister. Then, she could be happy.

"Would I ever see you again?" The words had already left her lips before she had the chance to catch herself.

Byakuya leaned down, fully prepared to kiss her, when he heard the door to his room clack back. Every fiber in his body tensed, and an icy chill trailed up and down his spine when he glanced back to find Hidetada seated behind the threshold to his door.

Hisana's head shot up, and she tried with all her might to glimpse the intruder but to no avail. She could not see  _through_  Byakuya. But the sting of diffidence was all the same, she supposed. Exposure was still exposure. She just hoped for his stake that whoever was outside the door was a trusted  _something_  and not a Kuchiki elder.

"My sincerest apologies, Lord Kuchiki. I will come at more  _convenient_ hour," the servant said, placing a heavy emphasis on the word "convenient." Hidetada took his precious time in closing the door as well—making sure that his disapprobation was understood loud and clear by the Master.

Hearing the sharp sound of wood meeting wood, Hisana was quick to sit up. A heavy blanket pulled tightly across her chest as she reached for her yukata. Shrugging the garment on, her gaze drifted to Byakuya where it stayed. He was also sitting up on the futon. His back was facing her.

"I'm…"

"Don't," he interrupted abruptly. "There is no need."

She nodded absently to herself.

The two dressed in silence. Neither even spared the other a glance.

It was when Hisana bent to pick up her sandals and moved to slide open the garden door that the oppressive quiet was broken. "My offer still stands," Byakuya said from behind her.

Hisana straightened at the sound of his voice. Her hand was mere inches from the door, and she hesitated. "Thank you, Lord Kuchiki."

And she was gone in a flash.

Days went by and Byakuya was comforted only by the constant badgering of his family to find a  _suitable_  mate. The latter distinction— _suitable_ —had only been tacked on after the incident with Hidetada. Before then his family had not felt the need to place qualifiers on any hypothetical wives-to-be.

There was almost a sense of scorn at his dilatoriness. His family  _expected_  so much from him in terms of how he carried himself. He had always been rebuked for his hotheaded manner. He had been slapped into place by (at the time) stronger more self-assured members of his family. Now, that he was the head of the Kuchiki Clan, the pressure intensified. The noose of obligation only tightened that much each passing day.

To avoid the burn of his family's eyes, he withdrew into himself. His exterior became icy, aloof, until he was sure they could find no chink in his armor. He carried himself with authority, and he shrouded himself in a stern and decisive aura.

But as much as he wished that he was free from the meddling influences of his family, he was not. Their opinion and words weighed heavily in his thoughts. He  _did_ need to find a mate. That much was certain in his mind. In order to assume full responsibility as head of the Kuchiki family, he would have to take on the mantle of Sixth Division Captain. He had the skill to pass the Captaincy test; he was absolute in his certainty on this point.

It was the prerequisite of procuring a wife and heir that eluded him…

If only the court ladies weren't  _so_  appalling. Or, if only he  _didn't find_  them  _so_  appalling. Most of them were gossipy power-hungry piranhas. Cloaked in the vestments of nobility, Byakuya was of the opinion that these females were vulgar at their core like a rotten fruit. They had taken no time to cultivate themselves; their only care was on the shell of life. They were beautiful and coveted beauty; they were wealthy and lusted after wealth; they wielded power and thus only wanted more.

And, Byakuya was not of the mind to satiate any lustful woman's desires. Perhaps that was the root of his problem with marriage. He was stubborn and prone to bouts of contrariness.

He was also enamored by another.

A small uneven grin thinned his lips as his thoughts went to  _her_.

It was futile, he reminded himself. He had scared her away. No, he had  _pushed_  her away with his offer of freedom. At first, he thought her mad and ungrateful for not pouncing on the opportunity. Then, his more rational and less hurt self began to ponder the reason for her absence and reticence on the matter. She was accustomed, half a century in the making, to her current status. Even if it was deplorable, it was better than living starved and half-naked in the slums of the Rukon Districts. Being a courtesan was better than being left to rot and die in Inuzuri. She was fed, clothed, and had some sort of purpose. Most importantly, she was safe and alive at the Peony House.

Anything outside of the Peony House was imbued with inherent risks. She could fail out of the Academy. She may not be able to secure an appointment after graduation. It was six years of grueling studies. Six years of putting her hopes of finding her sister on hold if she wished to succeed as a potential candidate for the Gotei 13.

His proposal had terrified her, and he found her reaction logical. Even if it was a twisted logic.

Staring into his private garden from his room, he wondered if he would see her before the festival. Part of him knew he would not, but part of him held out hope.

He did not see her in the days before the festival. He did not see her during the first two days of the festival.

He dutifully escorted the females handpicked by his family, and he dutifully attended every event that included female dancers. No matter how hard he scrutinized the heavily bedizened women, he could not find what he was looking for.

It was on the third and final day of the festival that he saw her. It was late. Night had finally settled over the festivities, and there she stood. Her hair was pinned up with decorative bobbles. She was dressed in fine silk with a bamboo print. She was stargazing.

Her head tilted up to the firmament, and, from the angle that he spotted her, he could see that her face was not painted like some of the other courtesans and female entertainers. She appeared to be alone, and, for the briefest of moments, he wondered if she had the night off.

Before reason or etiquette could strike him down, he quietly extricated himself from the lovely Lady Niitabe. She was so busy chatting with a party of fellow nobles that she did not even notice Byakuya's sudden absence.

"The fireworks will begin shortly."

Hisana turned at the sound of the voice. A pleasant expression creased her face, and she regarded Byakuya with a slight nod of her head. "Good evening, Lord Kuchiki."

He frowned at her stiffness. It was as if a sudden barrier separated the two as he neared. There was a coldness about her—a formality that had never been there before. "Good evening, Hisana," he murmured in kind.

When he took to her side, he could feel the tension between them begin to dissipate. She seemed more at ease to speak with him close beside her. "I apologize for my absence," she said in a hushed voice.

Byakuya turned his head to the side so he could get a better look at her. She seemed earnest, but he could not help but sense there was something  _else_. She had censored herself, he was sure.

Hisana met his gaze and held it for what felt like hours. "Word has spread," she whispered.

He lifted his head and swallowed. Hard. "I see," he murmured, his voice catching on the breath he was sucking in.

Turning her gaze to the middle distance, Hisana's eyes widened, and her breath hitched in her chest. "Business has picked up," she said; this time her voice was louder, and took less time to comprehend.

Byakuya nodded. His expression darkened, and his eye-line lifted to the dark heavens in anticipation of the fireworks display. "Have you considered my offer from before?"

"Yes. I will have an answer for you tonight. If you do not mind?"

His gaze shot over to her. "Y-Ye-Yes," he stuttered. Realizing his mistake, he quickly moved to redress his statement. "I mean, no, I do not mind."

She smiled sweetly. "Good." She looked on him with great fondness. "I must be going." Hisana nodded in the direction of the crowd that had gathered to watch the display.

Byakuya was about to bow his goodbye when his muscles were stayed by the abrasive sound of a thick Rukongai dialect.

"Well, well, I had no idea that you knew a Kuchiki!"

Hisana regarded the intruder with utmost respect. "Vice Captain Ichimaru," she said mid-bow.

"Vice Captain," Byakuya said belatedly, "good evening."

"It is,  _isn't it_?" Gin said. His perpetual smile was still perfectly intact as he neared the pair.

"I see Captain Aizen has released you from your duties for the night?"

Gin merely smiled in Byakuya's direction.

"Vice Captain, I had no idea you were familiar with Lord Kuchiki," Hisana said, hoping to lighten the mood.

"Everyone here knows Byakuya Kuchiki; he's famous!" Gin hissed, drawing out the last syllable longer than necessary.

Byakuya watched the Vice Captain with an air of indifference, but Hisana could sense that he was unnerved by Ichimaru's very  _sudden_  presence.

"Since we all seem acquainted with each other, why don't we share a drink?" Gin punctuated his familiarity with Hisana by grabbing her arm in what she could only interpret as an act of "affection".

Byakuya's expression fell from disinterest to repugnance. Even though Ichimaru was  _clearly_  attempting to shower his escort with some variety of eagerness, his interest was focused solely on Byakuya. And Byakuya was no fool; he knew when he was being sized up.

Hisana was right. Word had indeed spread throughout Seireitei. What a strange way for it to manifest? he mused. To his knowledge, he had no beef with Gin Ichimaru. He had virtually no contact with the Fifth Division. Aizen ran a tight ship so there were few if any disciplinary actions taken on members of his squad.

"I'm sure Lady Niitabe wouldn't mind." Gin's voice (or was it his spiritual pressure?) became increasingly more threatening with each passing word; his veiled intent only belied his sinister motives.

Byakuya scowled at the Vice Captain. His eyes narrowed and his lips sloped into a frown. "Neither I nor Lady Niitabe care to dignify the existence of  _cretins_  with our presence." His words were as icy and harsh as the feeling of the displaced air hitting Hisana's cheek when he turned.

Hisana turned her head as he passed, and glanced up into her companion's face. The Vice Captain appeared, if possible, somewhat disappointed by Byakuya's refusal. And for a brief moment she wondered if Ichimaru was sincerely hurt by the noble's words or depressed that a prime opportunity to torment the young Lord had passed him by.

"My, he's a real cold one," Gin announced, apparently having rebounded from whatever displeasure he experienced. " _However_  did the two of you meet?"

Hisana had a sinking feeling that this night was going to be a  _long_  one…

. . . .

"How did you find Lady Niitabe?"

Byakuya turned to face the unmistakable voice of his steward, Hidetada. He could tell the servant was radiating hope that unlike the other three women, Niitabe was _The_   _O_ _ne_. Hidetada's eyes glistened with buoyant glee as he watched his master.

"She  _was_." Byakuya couldn't bring himself to expound further. An adjective was more than he was willing to commit.

"She  _was_  what, milord?" Hidetada inquired.

Byakuya tugged at the end of his treasured scarf. The fabric sliding against the back of his neck proved to be a convenient distraction as he considered his next move. "She was _uninspiring_."

The indignant "guffaw" Hidetada made was audible. Byakuya could almost  _hear_  the man seethe.

"You need to find a wife, Lord Kuchiki."

"Servant, I did not ask you for counsel," Byakuya stated in a crisp voice. Handing the man his haori and scarf, he made sure to give Hidetada a stern stare.

Hidetada did not bat a lash at his Master's sudden rancor. He had grown accustomed to Byakuya's obstinacy. He had, after all, known the noble since he was a child.

"Lord Matsumura asked me to make these inquiries," Hidetada said, hoping to mollify his Lord.

Byakuya gave the steward a piercing sidelong glance. He did not appear pleased. "If my great uncle wishes to discuss marriage prospects, he can do so in person."

"I feel you are behaving stubbornly, milord."

Byakuya glowered.

"We have gone through nearly every suitable woman in Soul Society. Your expectations are unreal if you haven't found at least  _one_  woman up to par!"

"You are dismissed,  _servant_."

"Lord Kuchiki, your standards—they need to be lowered. Otherwise, you will never realize the full extent of your birthright."

" _You are dismissed_ ," Byakuya repeated, making sure to enunciate each word.

Jutting his jaw out like a determined bulldog, Hidetada turned his cheek and breathed a frustrated sigh. "As you wish," he growled.

Byakuya stood tense and still, waiting unflinchingly for the scratching sound his door made when it was drawn open and then quickly closed. He shut his eyes, and exhaled a deep breath when he felt the remnant of Hidetada's power signature fade.

Tiredly, he glanced up and focused his gaze on the garden door. It was open enough to allow the thick summer air entry, but he could see little more than the night's blackness.

Silently, he wondered if she would come. It was late enough already. His eyes stung with sleep, and his eyelids were beginning to feel like little weights threatening to droop down at any moment.

She had made a promise, and she had never lied to him before. She was always unabashed in her honesty even if it unsettled him. If she said she was coming then she would come.

But she did not come that night. She did not come the next night either.

Her promise still haunted him four days later. Part of him felt crushed that she had ended their tryst in such an undignified manner.

Part of him was incensed that it was  _she_  who had ended their… well, whatever it was they had.  _He_  was the noble;  _he_ was the one whose reputation was on the line;  _he_ had the power in the relationship. Didn't he?

And yet another part of him was pestered by the occasional pangs of worriment. What if something had  _prevented_  her from meeting him that night? What if some ill befell her and he was too cavalier to notice?

It was on that fourth day that he finally received his answer. The blackness of night had already descended, and he sat at his writing desk. His hand firmly gripped his brush, and his eyes trained on the forms. But he couldn't seem to concentrate on the words written on the page. There was something nagging at him—some itching at the back of his mind.

Tryingly, he closed his eyes and meditated. There was something  _different_  about the air that night. There was an aberration—a strange hum of an even stranger aura nearing him. The spiritual pressure was light, barely perceptible, and it was alien to him. Whatever was approaching he did not know, and he was unsure if he wanted to make its acquaintance.

Instinctively, he apprehended his zanpakutō, and moved to yank the door to the garden open with one swift motion. "Identify yourself," he ordered. His blade was already in position, hovering over the tender flesh of another's neck.

Glancing up, the intruder stared at him in shock. The shadows fell from her brow and countenance, and she gave a small yelp. "Whoa!" She raised her hands up defensively in front of her. "I mean no ill will, geesh."

Ascertaining that the small dark-headed girl was indeed harmless, Byakuya removed his sword from her neck. He brought the blade down to his side. "Who are you?"

"I came on behalf of Hisana," she began but was quickly cut-off by an anxious Byakuya.

"Hisana?" he questioned sternly. His brow lowered over narrowed eyes. "What do you know about her?"

"She is injured."

He grimaced at the revelation.

"She didn't want you to see her in her condition, but we thought it would be best."

" _We_?"

The girl inhaled a deep breath; her aggravation was becoming increasingly apparent. "Yes,  _we_ , the girls at the Peony House. We thought it would be good for her if you came."

Apprehensive, Byakuya submitted, and silently followed the girl to the Peony House. She treaded lightly around the periphery of the large edifice. "Come," she whispered, jerking her chin in the direction of a small stable.

It was unspoken, but discretion was required.

Silently, they adroitly infiltrated the darkened annex where she led him to the area in which Hisana was being held. It was a small dank room. The air was moist and heavy, and the ground was wet and gritty under his feet.

"This is where they keep the infirm," the small girl informed him as she grabbed a lit lantern, and placed it close to the futon where Hisana rested.

Byakuya much doubted that the conditions of the room were conducive to convalescence. Quite the contrary, he imagined. "What happened?" he asked, drawing to Hisana's side. The flickering glow of the lantern illuminated her features. She looked drawn and bruised.

The nameless girl placed a sitting mat down for Byakuya. "She had finished with one of her  _guests_  for the evening when she was surprised with yet another. The person, whoever it was, paid a nice sum to remain anonymous and thus there is no record of whom it was."

Byakuya looked askance.

"I will leave you two," she said, giving a short bow before parting company.

His head bent, and his gaze trained on her. The flame's flickering began to settle with the stillness of the room, and he was able to better observe her condition. The strange girl was right—Hisana was indeed "injured". A long gash ran along her right brow. It had been hastily patched with a few crudely sewn stitches.

'Who did this?' he wondered.

Quietly, he recounted the girl's words. Hisana had been escorted back to the House by her guest that evening. He presumed the client in this case was Gin Ichimaru. When she returned, she was informed she had to entertain a surprise client—someone who wanted to remain unknown. Someone who had enough money on him to pay a high price for her services, and someone influential enough to keep his name off the books.

It could have been  _any_  noble or  _any_  determined shinigami.

But why?

She had come to him with injuries before—superficial lacerations and bruises. He never understood the need to defile a defenseless woman. It wasn't very noble, and it certainly was not good form for a warrior.

"Lord Kuchiki?" her voice was throaty, and the words came out sounding parched.

"Hisana?"

Swollen eyelids fluttered back at the sound of his voice. "You shouldn't be here. Not to see me. Not like this."

It was clear she was not "all there" mentally. Her words slurred together, and her sentences were broken and, at times, incoherent.

"Who did this?"

She mustered a weak smile and shook her head. "Don't worry."

"Have you seen a physician?"

She nodded. "It is expensive."

His brows knitted together. There was something about her response that disturbed him. Was she not being treated properly? He knew the Houses were tight with money, and he knew that the girls were regarded as being expendable if they became too much of a burden…

"Who was it that did this to you?"

Her eyelids fell shut. Her exhaustion was palpable.

Byakuya remained quietly by her side until the nameless one returned. "Morning is breaking, Lord Kuchiki. Perhaps, you should be off?"

He shot her a scathing stare. His features drawn, and his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.

The girl bowed deeply.

"Who did this?"

She shook her head. "No one knows. Or, rather, no one is willing to talk."

"Why did you feel it appropriate to bring me here?" he asked; his tone came off icier than he had intended. He took to his feet. His movements were noticeably sluggish from weariness.

She shook her head. "When we first found her, she was writhing in pain, and she mentioned something about 'Kuchiki.' It was no guarded secret that she entertained you."

His gaze trailed to the floor. He considered the obvious first, and a grim realization washed over him. His family had many faults, but he did not think they would go so far. Would they? He shook his head.

"Who is the treating physician?" he asked knowingly.

When the girl lowered her gaze and pressed her lips together, he had his answer.

"Of course," he murmured to himself. 'So that was the reason she brought me here…'

. . . .

When Hisana regained consciousness, she found herself alone and in unfamiliar territory. The room was capacious and so immaculately kept. This was not where she had been taken at the Peony House. This was not the dank drafty room where they kept the ill and dying.

Pulling herself up on her futon was a sure shock to the system. Her head felt heavy, and her vision swam. A wave of nausea hammered at her stomach, and her equilibrium began to wane. 'Where  _am_  I?"

Her answer came a few hours later when she was greeted by a well-dressed attendant. Her confusion was apparent to the servant, who was kind enough to indulge the curious gleam in her eye.

"Good! You are awake," the perky woman announced. "I will fetch Lord Kuchiki."

All Hisana could do was blink back her disbelief. 'Am I dreaming?' she wondered, drawing her hand up to inspect. 'This seems real. Maybe I'm hallucinating? I was injured badly.'

When Byakuya entered the room, Hisana's shock was telegraphed loud and clear. "You appear surprised," he noted absently as he took to the sitting mat beside her futon.

Hisana had not even noticed the mat before then. 'He's been watching me?' Her brows fell and knitted together at the thought. "What? Why? I don't understand." No truer words had been spoken.

A small grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Your cognizance of the matter isn't necessary."

"I am at your estate?" she asked, making sure she at least  _knew_  where she was.

He nodded his head.

"I'm sure your family is  _thrilled_."

"They are no such thing."

Her gaze flicked up to meet his, and a smile thinned her lips. He was nothing but brutally honest. "Your largess is too much, Lord Kuchiki." Hisana stared affectionately up at Byakuya. Her eyes softened, and her smile broadened. "Thank you."

"Your gratitude is premature," he informed in his patented knowing and dry tone. "I took it upon myself to disentangle you from your obligations at the Peony House."

Her lips parted; her eyes widened; and her jaw slackened at the news. "What?" was the only response she could swing.

"Now, you may shower me with gratitude."

She gaped, dumbfounded.

"It was a joke."

She snorted a short breath. "So you  _didn't_  remove me from the House?"

"No. I was earnest on that point."

She nodded her head and looked down. Her expression darkened into a look of desolation. What was she going to do? Suddenly, she felt very cold and very alone. Staving off the sudden chill crawling down her spine, she pulled the blankets tightly against her breast.

She appeared stricken to Byakuya's eyes. She appeared lost in thought—drowning in the countless possibilities that now confronted her and her newfound freedom. He could almost see each question write its way onto her face the moment it entered her head.

"I know what happened that night," he answered soothingly. His voice brought her from her thoughts.

She blinked, unable to find the right expressions. She could have denied whatever thought that plagued him. But, that would have exposed more than she was willing.

"I think it would prudent if you remained here with me for the time being."

She shook her head. "No, no, Lord Kuchiki. I  _refuse_  to be a burden to you or your family."

He watched her with calm eyes. He did not appear swayed from his position. "The Academy is not recruiting potential candidates at the moment. It would be wise to stay here for the time being."

Hisana continued shaking her head in protest. "What will I do here besides get in the way?"

"There are many duties here that you could handle. It would benefit me greatly if you remained until the Academy begins screening for new students. Consider it as compensation."

Hisana lifted her head, and her expression became stony as she pondered his offer. "What will you have me do?"

"Marriage."

Her breath hitched in her chest, and her eyes widened. The world felt as it was spinning around her. The walls began to waver, and her body became intensely heated at the request. "Yes," was the only response that flew to mind.

Byakuya's gaze immediately lifted to hers. He appeared sincerely relieved by her response. "Yes?" he echoed, unsure if he heard correctly.

Hisana lifted her hand up for him to take, and he gladly obliged. For some reason, his offer felt to be a perfect solution for the both of them. There was a certain madness to it, Hisana had to admit. But, it was intriguing in its simplicity.

"Yes," she said again. A genuine look of happiness softened her features as she uttered the word. "I hope to hear you called 'Captain.'"

He smiled fondly at her in reply. "I hope to see you and your sister reunited."


End file.
